#but if you say something bad about one of them in front of the other

[edward-munson]

never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth. 

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat. 

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, soap x reader, unsolicited nudes, pushy behaviour, implied noncon elements - 1K words, semi-edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Anxiously sending in an offer for a kitchen appliance you’re in dire need of via an online social media marketplace, only for the seller- JTav87, to reply instantly.

The notification comes when you’re taking a curious peep at his info. His proflile makes him seem nice enough- real 'the cool uncle’ vibes. The page's display picture is a snap of him grinning ear to ear with one of his big paw-like hands at his chest in a thumbs up gesture, the other being obscured behind the lid of an outdoor grill; a family gathering in full swing behind him.

It's all topped off with the stock photo of a beach at sunset as his header, the poorly stretched image sporting a sprawling near-unreadable quote about resilience smack-dab in the middle, gratuitous high contrast vignette filters over everything as a little banner pops up at the bottom of your screen; a message from the seller.

‘I cn do tht.’

you hastily type out a reply in fear of the purchase somehow getting delayed or cancelled.

‘You’re a lifesaver😊I've been searching high and low for one of these!’

Being too friendly was your first mistake, you just wanted to make a good impression- it seemed harmless at the time.

The pickup goes off without too much of a hitch- you meet up as requested in the well-lit parking lot of a generic chain cafe, puffing out cold breaths from behind your jacket and nursing a warm beverage you had managed to grab. Stepping out of a beat up pickup, you come to find that he’s a lot bigger than his pictures would have you assume, not shockingly tall, but his overall aura and bulk make him seem like a giant. His bare arms splay outwards, stretching the fabric of his ill-fitted tee in a gesture that almost had you worried he was going to go in for a hug- thankfully, a firm handshake seems to suffice. 

“Och! Yer’ hands’re baltic!” he exclaims with a blinding smile, rosy tips of his ears and nose being the only tell he was affected by the weather himself as he claps his other hand around yours, rubbing them together to create heat. It's an action that nearly had you spilling the drink in your free hand as you stagger a bit in response to the contact- something he seemed to either not notice, or not mind.

The real kicker was the way he refused to take your money, hemming and hawing about how you should be saving that money for stuff you need- as if the appliance you were purchasing wasn’t that exactly. “A’hm not gonna take yer’ money- a’hm t’fond of ye’.”

whatever that means. 

It's good you didnt pay, evidently. When he had loaded it into your car- having the gall to laugh after you asked if he needed help, mind you- he had forgotten the cord that made the thing work, offering you a lovely little surprise when you finally got home.

On queue, there's a muffled ding from the device in your pocket. 

‘forgt 2 brng cord. srry x’ 

your eyes could have rolled out of your head; suffice to say, you weren't impressed.

‘I really needed this tonight, had baking I needed to do for a party tomorrow 🫤weather’s too bad for me to go out again tonight.’

‘cn drop off at urs if u wnt?’

Had you been in any other situation, this would have been a hard no- sadly however, your stress and desperation leads you into letting the heavyset man worm his way in through your front door as if he owns the place, cord bunched up and hanging out of his back pocket while he kicks the snow from his boots with a saintly smile.

Surprisingly, the drop off is quick- only interrupted by him asking to use your toilet as you're distracted with pulling out baking supplies. Before you know it, he’s back on the icy roads again. You almost wish you had offered him some coffee or tea-

 Almost.

When the morning sun bleeds through your curtains, you pick up your phone to find a notification from JTav87.

‘Hve a grate day x’ 

You frown and ignore the message as you start your day, but it only seems to embolden him into sending you countless more, the tone of the messages becoming increasingly more romantic as time draws on- some of your work friends at the office party even ask you if there was a new beau in your life when you had made the mistake of leaving your phone face up atop the breakroom table while you ate.

The final straw between you, your peace of mind, and the block button comes that night with a handful of alarmingly explicit voice messages in your inbox, promptly followed by a very-much so unprompted video of him shirtless and moaning while he chokes his swollen dick in a vice grip- all done over a familiar bunched up pair of underwear that you know with certainty had been at the top of the hamper in your bathroom. 

Little is left to the imagination when he snatches up the stolen garment, bringing it to his nose, face just out of frame as his chest expands in response. His audible fist-fucking and jerking hips get more frenzied as he gives one last brutal tug all the way from his base to the head, hand flexing as he aims his shot at his phone, cum coating the counter space directly in view of the camera.

His spent cock bobs and drools, stomach muscles contracting wildly as he leans back into the wall behind him; taking a moment before reaching forward to stop the video, searing the image of his hazy, wolfish grin in your mind.

His free hand gets busy sopping up his mess in your underwear as the screen flashes back to the clip's first frame, offering you the prompt to watch again.

It would later become apparent that blocking could only do so much to seperate you from a mutt like John MacTavish- especially when he's privy to your home address.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 3 - Working With the Enemy

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: mentions of wounds, medical stuff.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

They make you leave the room with the mohawk guy while they talk. 

It’s been at least 10 minutes you’d wager. They’re deciding your fate. It makes you restless, bouncing your leg up and down while you hear their muffled voices on the other side of the door. You look over at the man in the room.

You could take him, you wouldn’t have to do much just surprise him, give yourself enough time to run out the house. Maybe if you knock him hard enough you can grab his weapon. He’s not even holding a weapon at you, his arms are crossed. 

You’re quick, you don’t know if you’re quicker then him but his pistol is just sitting her in his holster. 

“See something you like?” He asks, snapping you out of your head, you look up at him.

“Why join the army when your country is not at war?”

“Why not pick a side when yours is?” You scoff, shaking your head. Like he would understand what it’s like. Just like the Americans, there always has to be a good and a bad. 

“You’re not british?” You ask. 

“Scottish.” He replies. You didn't think you were going to get a sincere reply, you smile. He looks over at you and you look away, back to the door.

“Ever think about what’s going to happen when the war ends?” He asks. You laugh, you don’t really mean it, it just seems like such a stupid question. 

“I’ll be long gone before that happens.” You say crossing your arms and leaning back in the chair. You’ve dropped the idea of escaping it seems. Maybe you can get more info from them, useful info. A Lot of people would pay good money for SAS intel.  

“Really? Where would you go?” He asks like he’s interested all of a sudden.

“America, Russia. Somewhere with a fuck load of land.” 

“Why?” 

“Farming sounds like fun. Being self-sufficient, that kind of thing.” You say. He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe you. 

“What about you? Got any dreams or are you planning on dying for your country?” You ask bitterly. What makes him think he’s any better than you? Because he took an oath? Fuck him. 

“Who knows, might do. What’s better though a quick fulfilled life or a long unfulfilled one?” He says. You frown at him. What the fuck does that mean?

“What? Were you a psychologist in another life?” You ask, looking away. He chuckles, you ignore him. You both sit there in silence for what feels like ages. You can still hear mumbling, they’re still talking. They could be deciding to execute you. You’re the enemy, they don’t even need to make it look like an accident. Boom bullet in your head job done. 

You just hope it’ll be quick. Or maybe they’ll decide to torture you for intel, not that you know much. 

“What’s your name?” You turn to the man. 

“Soap.” 

“Soap? Like what you wash with?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods, you scoff, shaking your head and looking away.

Soap, Ghost, Gaz and Price. What a fucking mess you’ve got yourself in. 

…

The door swings open, it makes you jump. Soap springs to his feet, you wait. 

“He wants to talk to you.” Gaz says, he barely looks at you as he moves out the way of the door. You stand up swallowing the fear rising in you. You walk back into the room. Price is sat up on the sofa now a hand pressed on the bandages on his stomach, there’s an electronic tablet by his side. That probably has a lot of expensive intel on it. 

Ghost’s stood behind the sofa with his arms crossed. You look at him quickly then to Price as you stop in front of him. He looks round you, he still looks clammy, at least there is some colour back in his face. That’s got to be good, at least whatever you did didn't kill him. 

“You said you could pull the bullet out?” He asks. You look round the room not quite believing what you’re hearing. 

“No, I said you needed a hospital.” You cross your arms. Price smiles leaning back on the sofa, his face winces in pain even though he tries to hide it. 

“I want you to pull it out.”

“Price!” You hear Gaz say. “That's not what we discussed.” 

“I’m sorry. Even if I could just pull it out, I don’t have any equipment. No sterile field, an x-ray.” You stop throwing your hands up. “I could kill you. I don’t exactly want the blood of a SAS soldier on my hands.”  

“I could die anyway?” 

“You’re still talking, moving, breathing.” You’re getting frustrated, there’s no way you’re going to do this. If you kill him they’ll blame you it’s a death sentence. 

“Which means the bullet probably missed anything vital.” He says as a matter of fact. You look down at the wound, his hand still resting on the bandages. The bleeding is under control, he seems fine other than the hole in his stomach. 

“Maybe. I don’t know but I'm not doing what would basically be surgery on you in a shitty safehouse.” You say squeezing the bridge of your nose. “Like I said I don’t even have the tools.” 

“The vets in the next town over, will it have what you need?” You stop pinching your nose. You don’t say anything. There is no way this is happening.  

“You’re crazy.” You scoff, holding your hands up then letting them fall back down by your side. You look round at everyone. No one is saying anything, Price has a smile on his lips you just want to slap off. 

“C’mere.” He says moving and gesturing for you to step closer. You just stand there gawking at him, no one is saying anything. You look up at Ghost, his eyes are digging into you. You swallow again, taking a step over to him. This time everyone does move, ever so slightly but enough for you to notice. Price’s hand reaches out to press on his side. 

“Feel that.” He says. You look up at him unsure what to do, he nods at you. You shake your head for a second letting out a sigh and press where he instructed. 

Holy shit, it’s hard just under his skin. It’s the bullet. You could pull that out no problem, then you could stitch up the rest of his wounds.

“Still don’t think you could get it out?” He asks as you stand back up. Your eyes flick back up to Ghost. You press your lips together thinking, you could do this.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask. Now it’s negotiation time. You hear Gaz scoff. 

“We let you walk out here alive.” Gaz says, there’s anger in his voice. You turn to look at him. He’s definitely the most reserved out of all them, he held a gun to your head. He would kill you, all he needs is an excuse. You look back down at Price. 

“Your life for mine.” 

“Dramatic.” You scoff. You hear Soap chuckle behind you. 

“I want asylum, in the UK.” You say, crossing your arms. It's not America but it’s a start.  

“Fine.” Price says. You look at him shocked. 

“Just like that?” You ask frowning, it’s almost too go to be true. 

“Just like that. You need to get us into Russia though. Quietly, you said you’re a good smuggler, we’ll even pay you for it.” Price says. Now you really don’t believe him. It’s a challenge though, you can see it in his eyes. 

“I would need to go to the vets for the supplies.” You say.

“Ghost will go with you.” Price says. This is risky, they could be lying. They could kill you as soon as they’re done with you. If they want you to take them over the border you could hand them over to Konni. Makarov would probably pay you enough to retire if you handed him 4 SAS soldiers, fuck it he’d probably give you a mansion somewere in Russia. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” You ask.

“How do we know we can trust you?” Price says back, tipping his head. Touché. You smile. 

“Okay. I’ll help.” You hold your hand out, he shuffles uncomfortably but leans forward to shake your hand. 

You don’t trust them, but they don’t trust you. No way you’re going to let them betray you though. That’s your job.

next

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[mugglebornmarvelite]

Husband Material

Paring: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. A proper shit day and all you need is a hug from your boy.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k words

Warnings: Domestic fluff, reader has a shitty day, one curse word, mild innuendo, slight angst if you squint

Author’s Note: A little drabble for those who need a Peter Parker hug. This was done at 3 in the morning and is barely edited.

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

It had been one of those days.

From the moment you woke up, everything seemed to go wrong. Work was a disaster. Your boss was unusually demanding and you got bad news from a co-worker. Plus, the heated argument with a family member during lunch had left a bitter taste in your mouth.

That sealed the deal.

It was a fucking horrible day.

By the time you got home, you felt like a storm cloud ready to burst.

It was a complete and utter shit day.

As you unlocked the door, Peter was on a call, gesturing to you with a warm smile and mouthing, “Hey, bug,” before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. It was a small thing, but it helped

You offered him a faint smile, the best you could muster, before muttering something about needing a shower.

The hot water didn’t wash away the bad day like you hoped it would. Instead, it just made you feel even more exhausted.

You got dressed with a deep sigh, trying to summon the energy to face the rest of the evening.

But your sour mood came to pause when you saw Peter. Your Peter.

Peter was on the couch, a mug of tea resting on the coffee table in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose. His eyebrows were furrowed in an adorable scrunch as his long fingers absently toyed with the corner of the page as he read.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to bury your face in his sweater or have him buried inside you until you couldn't think.

He was wearing his softest sweater, the light blue one you always steal, and a pair of loose sweatpants that hang just right on his hips.

He looks impossibly cozy, his hair slightly messy, and the sight alone makes your heart ache in the best way.

Peter glances up as he hears your footsteps. “Hey, bug,” he says with a smile on his face, his voice warm, making you want to melt into him. “Everything okay?”

You nod, but the corners of your mouth tremble as you step closer. “I just need a hug,” you whisper, your voice small.

Without hesitation, Peter sets the book down, his glasses slipping off his nose and he rests them on top of his book.

“Come here,” he says, his arms already opening for you.

You practically fall into him, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrap securely around you. He’s warm and his sweater is so soft. The faint scent of his cologne and the tea he was drinking enveloping you.

Peter holds you tightly, one hand gently rubbing circles on your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

“You’re okay,” Peter murmured, rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’ve got you.”

You sniffled, clinging to him tighter. “It was such a shit day.”

“I know, bug.” His lips brushed the top of your damp hair. “I could tell the second you walked in. Talk to me about it, or don’t. Whatever you need.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes glassy but thankful. “I just really needed this. You.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and he smiled softly, his brown eyes warm. “You’ve got me. Always.”

Peter leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then another to your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. You melted into him, letting his love wrap around you.

When he pulled back, he studied you for a moment, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. “How about I make us some hot chocolate? We’ll watch something mindless, eat whatever snacks we have, and just shut the world out for a while.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the first real smile of your day tugging at your lips. “That sounds perfect.”

Peter grinned, stealing one more kiss before standing up. “Stay right there. I’ll take care of everything.”

As you curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of him, you realized that even on the worst days, Peter Parker was the kind of husband material that made everything else bearable.

He's your home.

Peter disappeared into the kitchen and a few minutes later, Peter returned, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a plate of cookies, and a bowl of popcorn. He set it down on the coffee table then plopped down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hot chocolate for my lady,” he said, handing you a mug.

You took it with a grateful smile, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into your palms. “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“Not possible,” Peter said, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “You deserve all of it. Even on your worst days. You take care of me on shitty days, I'd be stupid not to do the same for my girl.”

You nudged him with your elbow, but he just grinned, pulling you closer. “Now, what are we watching? Rom-com? Thriller? Or do we just marathon bad reality tv until we can’t feel feelings anymore?”

You laughed softly. “Watching reality tv sounds like the exact thing I can handle right now.”

“Perfect,” Peter said, grabbing the remote. “I’ve got the trashiest shows lined up just for this kind of emergency.”

As the first episode of some ridiculous dating show began to play, you leaned against Peter, resting your head on his shoulder. He held you close, his hand tracing patterns on your arm as you both sipped your warm drink.

Halfway through the episode, he pressed his lips against your temple again. “Feeling a little better?” he murmured.

You nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah. A lot better, actually.”

Peter’s gaze softened, and he reached up to brush a thumb across your cheek. “Good. Because seeing you upset kills me, bug. You don’t have to handle it all on your own, okay? I’m here.”

“I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out,” he teased, his lips turning into a playful smile before he kissed you again, this time slower and deeper.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and full of affection. “I love you.”

You smile softly. “I love you too, Pete. So much.”

He smiled, kissing the tip of your nose. “Good. Now, let's relax and eat way too many cookies.”

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. And as the ridiculous show unfolded, Peter’s sarcastic commentary made you laugh even harder than you thought you would tonight.

No matter how bad the day had started, being with him made everything feel okay in the end.

Always.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @laaundromat @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @bethies-world @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @chayceschultz @kdelarenta @alexxavicry @gryffindorsblog

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[luxcuriousao3]

Expanding on this.

warnings: perv!König, noncon groping, somno, titfucking

-

Best Friend!König who’s obsessed with your tits.

You’ve known each other since childhood, and while he shot up in height, you shot up in bra size. And König noticed. Mien Gott, did he notice.

He was around fifteen when he realized for the first time just how nice your breasts felt against his big body when he hugged you, so soft and warm. He started taking any excuse to give you long, drawn out hugs—though of course he told himself it was just because he loved you so much. You were the only person who didn't bully him, after all.

He rationalized how his gaze started to end up on your cleavage more often than your face, too. He was just so tall, that even if he tried to look into your eyes—and he did, Schatz, he really did! You have to believe him, he tried so hard—he could see straight down your top, anyway.

And, well, he was no saint—just a man. And your tits were so pretty.

Could you really blame him for looking? He just wanted to admire you…

He always insisted on driving you places once he got his license—he was a good friend, after all, and he liked being useful. That he got to throw his arm out across your soft chest every time the car in front of him stopped too suddenly was just a bonus.

As the years passed by, his obsession grew—especially after he found porn. Most nights, he fisted his long, fat cock to videos of women who looked like you having their breasts played with, abused, worshipped. He preferred the latter, but he couldn’t deny there was something thrilling about the idea of slapping your soft tits and watching them jiggle. He would be sure to kiss them better after, though.

Once, after a particularly rough mission, König showed up at your place beaten to hell, eyes scarily hollow. You immediately let him inside, pulled him down onto your couch, and held him as he cried. He laid his head on your chest, seeking the comfort only your breasts could give him, and you shushed him softly as you petted his hair. He wished desperately in that moment that he could pull your top down, latch onto one of your cute little nipples, and suckle to his heart’s content, but he settled for leaning more and more of his weight on you until you had to lay back on the couch, him on top of you with his face buried in between your tits as he feigned sleep.

He was far too heavy for you to move yourself, and clearly, you felt bad for him, because you let him stay like that the whole night rather than wake him up.

On your twentieth birthday, König made sure he would have two whole weeks of leave, so he could spend time with you and your perfect breasts. He didn’t have the best relationship with his family, and you didn't have a roommate at Uni, so you let him stay in your dorm. You weren’t going to make your best friend sleep on the floor, of course, so the two of you shared a bed. Nothing untoward happened until the fourth night, when you both got outrageously drunk. You curled up in the tiny bed together when you got back from the pub, and promptly knocked out.

When you woke up the next morning, though, it was to one of König’s massive paws slipped under the neck of your dress, cupping your left tit.

To say you freaked out was an understatement.

You jumped up like you arse was on fire, hollering at him, demanding to know what the fuck he thought he was doing. König, who had been dead asleep, actually fell out of the bed, looking up at you for once, his big, perpetually sad eyes wide with complete confusion and a little bit of fear. When he realized what you were accusing him of, he started stuttering apologies, mortified with himself. You thought it was because he had unintentionally groped you in his sleep, which was partially true. But the main reason he was so upset was because he hadn’t even gotten to enjoy it. He’d held your beautiful breasts for the very first time and he hadn’t even known! The thought made him tear up, and you quickly forgave him, telling him that you believed him—"Accidents happen."

Every time it happened after that, König let you believe it was still an accident.

The more time he spent in the military earning his fearsome reputation and seeing terrible horrors, the bolder he grew. Now, when he visited you in your flat and gave you those sad puppy eyes until you let him sleep in bed with you rather than on the couch, he did not merely cup your breast at night. He played with your nipples, rolling the sensitive little buds between his fingers, tugging and pinching and delighting in the sleepy sounds of pleasure you let out. You tended to wake up if he got his mouth on them though, so he restrained himself—at least until he was able to get you drunk. You slept like dead when you were wasted, and he had free reign over your amazing tits. He squeezed and sucked, kissed and licked, even fucked them, once. He’d been a little drunk too, that night, or he wouldn't have risked it—but seeing his massive cock nestled between your breasts was like a revelation. He found God in the warm embrace of your tits, and he made an offering in the form of his seed, spilling it all over your chest, neck, and lips.

It felt blasphemous to clean his come from your skin, like he was desecrating a sacred altar, but he knew you would hate him if you discovered what he’d done. And he couldn’t have that—he loved you, he always had and always would. You and your heavenly breasts.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (7)

previous | next

cw: bad attempt at accents

Gaz watches the door slam behind you and turns back to Price, eyebrow raised. "Well, that was'n part 'a the plan," he says dryly. He looks to Soap and Ghost then back at Price. He drops his gaze to where Price still holds his wrist and, voice laced with sadness, says, "Maybe we were too much."

Price angles his head to catch Gaz's eye. He sees his own guilt reflected there. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Ya might be right," he admits.

"Wot 'appened?" Ghost asks, looking from the chair you abandoned to the door to Price.

"Think we might-a come on too strong," Price says. "She'd been skittish at dinner. Who knows wha' she thinks 'a wha' you an' me told 'er seein' what we did tonight." He drops his head into his hands. He knows you need to know about them, but when they first tried to explain their relationship to Laswell, it took months to make her see. To understand. They simply don't have that time with you.

Price knows actions speak louder than words. But it seems they shouted when a whisper might have worked just as well.

You sleep fitfully, chased through your dreams by soft lips, deep blue eyes, a desperate plea, and a broken heart. In the morning, when you hear the others getting ready, instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, you pull your things together. As the door to the barracks closes behind them, you head to the bathroom to get ready. You've paid attention to their routine and know they do their first round of training before they eat. If you head to the mess now, you can pick up some coffee and food to take with you, thus avoiding them for now.

You run quickly through the line in the mess, grabbing some fruit before you go. You carry it and a big tumbler of coffee to your office where you proceed to barricade yourself in with all the current intel you have. You check and double-check and triple-check the travel itinerary; the boys leave in four days, and despite your own emotional turmoil, you want them safe. You ignore the text you get from Laswell asking how you're getting on with the boys. Does she know something about them you don't? Instead you respond with a comment about how you know how to get to town if you need to and about Corporal Avery. You keep your thoughts about the 141 guarded.

By lunchtime, you're deeply invested in some older intelligence on the organization the 141 is taking on. It's a series of wire-taps between some of the organization's presumed leaders and local underlings from months ago. You know the audio has been scrubbed six ways from Sunday, but you wouldn't be the best if you didn't follow every hunch, and something tells you there's important information here. If you can find it.

You're so deep down the rabbit hole you don't hear the knocking on your door. You focus on your job and don't realize you've skipped lunch.

You work through to dinner, stopping when your growling stomach reminds you it hasn't had quite enough fuel to keep going at this rate. A glance at the clock shows it's 7:30, far later than you've seen the boys eat. Maybe you can eat in the mess in peace and slip into the barracks unnoticed, but you doubt it.

It's really John you're avoiding. It's not Kyle's fault he kissed his friend? lover? partner? in front of you. He couldn't know what John insinuated earlier that day. He couldn't know the kiss just about broke you. Even Simon, though he said he wants you, didn't do anything to make you feel like he was putting you on. It was Soap who snuggled close. Sure, Simon didn't stop him, but maybe that's how they comfort one another. You know their jobs are harrowing. Maybe this is something they do to cope.

You aren't thinking about food when you walk into the mess, mind still stuck on the 141, so you're surprised to see Soap sitting alone at a table. You consider ignoring him - he hasn't seen you yet - but when he glances up and sees you, his whole demeanor changes. You didn't realize how sad he looked until you think about how happy he is to see you. He waves an arm and starts to rise, looking like he's going to start shouting at you in a moment.

You hurriedly make your way to him, sitting in the space across from him as he takes his seat. "Och, Oz, was thinkin' you'd taken off." It's part tease, part scold. "We didnae knoo whare ye were. Gaz couldnae feend ye for brekkie, ahnd Ghost said no one answered yoor door at lunch."

You bite your lip and look away, torn between being ashamed and frustrated. You finally settle on curious. "I'm a big girl, Soap. I can, and do, take care of myself."

He waves a hand at you. "Aye, we knoo. But we're all keen on spendin' time wi' oor best girl now tha' yoor here." He blushes a bit at this admission but still meets your gaze. "We only have a few days, and I fer one doan wanna miss out on ye if I can help it "

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Soap has always been a sweet talker, but this feels definitively more like flirting than anything he"s said over comms.

He starts talking again, barrelling through your silence. "An' I hope I didnae make ye uncomfortable when I was restin' las' night. He doesnae look it, but Ghost makes a right fine pillow." He winks at you. "I bet you do too. Yoor soothing like tha'."

You hurry to respond. "No, no, I wasn't... uncomfortable? A little surprised I guess. Didn't know it was, well, I don't know what I thought, but it's fine. I'm fine." You know how you sound, tripping over yourself. In an attempt to deflect, you say, "I still need to eat, so..." You trail off and hope he gets the hint to leave, but it seems he's stubborn because he doesn't react. In fact, he leans forward and levers him up when you do.

"Lemme come wi'," he says. "We all had oor scran, but I can keep ye company. Pay ye back for all those nights ye made things less lonely."

You can't really say no when he puts it so sweetly. So you let him accompany you through the line, pointing out what you should try and what to avoid. You don't fail to notice the sounds he makes when you grab your selections, the hums and snickers and scoffs and questioning noises. When you're sure you have a fairly balanced plate - with some extra desserts because it's been one of those days - Soap deftly pays, ignoring your reminder that, "I get a daily meal allowance as part of this placement. It isn't even my money I'm spending." Then he snags your tray, carrying it for you back to your table.

As you eat Soap tells you more about himself, especially his family and how they want him to "settle doon wi' a nice girl." And just as John did the previous morning, Soap looks directly into your eyes as he says it. "Ne'er thought I'd feend one Ah wanted to settle doon wi'. No' really. No' until yoo, Oz."

You sputter for a moment, but really, who wouldn't. Three admissions of desire? love? in two days, and though you aren't quite as shocked by Soap's after both John and Simon, you're still troubled. "What about last night? You and Simon...you seem...close."

Soap nods his head. "Aye, we are. But it doesnae mean my heart is too full for ye." He looks at you so earnestly the recriminations die in your throat. You have feelings for four people all at the same time, after all. Who's to say the same can't be true for Soap. Is that what's going on with John, too?

You take a deep breath and force yourself to meet Soap's eyes. "What, exactly, are you saying, Soap? Are you playing around? Is this a game, or-"

He hastily cuts you off. "No! No no, nothin' li' tha'. I like ye, Oz. Have for a long while." He reaches across the table to hold your hand. "And yoor right. I have feelings foor...Ghost too." He shrugs and focuses on the table, collecting his thoughts. "Guess Ah don't see the point in limitin' mah love when each mission could be mah last." He spears you with his ice blue gaze and drives the point home when he adds, "An' Ah knoo Ah'm no' the only one who thinks tha' way."

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Hugs That Feel Like Home

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

She made a definitive decision when she chose to move to Monaco with Max. It was a leap of faith—no matter how much love was between them, it meant leaving her family and friends behind for him. But isn’t that what love does? It pushes you to take risks, to step into the unknown, all in the name of something greater than yourself.

That didn’t mean she didn’t visit her family; in fact, it was quite a regular occurrence. She often went to see them, though her family was, more often than not, a chaotic mess. She would always return in a less-than-great mood, her mind still spinning and her temper simmering from all the drama.

Max carried the suitcase into the bedroom and set it down with a quiet thud. When he turned back to her, she was still leaning against the doorframe, looking worn out but trying to not let it show so intently.

“How bad was it?” he asked softly, already reading the answer in her expression.

She sighed, her fingers brushing her hair out of her face. “Oh, you know, the usual—overbearing opinions, unnecessary arguments, and somehow, I’m always the referee,” she said with a tired smile.

He crossed the room to her, his face soft with concern. “And you’re still standing,” he said, stopping just in front of her. 

“Yeah, like Elton John,” she chuckled slightly, her humor that bad when she was exhausted. 

Max chuckled at her bad joke, knowing by it just how tired she was. His hands found her waist as his eyes searched hers. “Barely, though.”

“I think I’ve mastered the art of surviving family chaos,” she quipped, though her voice cracked slightly under the weight of the experience.

He didn’t say anything at first, just smiled at her in that easy way he always did, like he was trying to siphon some of her stress away. Then he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“Max...” she started, but her voice trailed off when his lips moved to her temple, then her cheek.

“Hmm?” he hummed softly, not stopping. His hands slid gently from her waist to her lower back as he kissed the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose, then her other cheek.

“What are you doing?” she asked, though her tired smile was starting to grow.

“Helping,” he murmured, kissing her again—her jawline this time. “You looked like you needed this.”

Her laughter came soft and unbidden as he kissed her chin, then her cheek again. “You’re so goofy sometimes,” she said, her words lacking any judgement, shaking her head slightly but not pulling away.

“I know,” he said, grinning against her skin. His hands slid lower, resting on her thighs. “But it’s working, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but when his hands gave her thighs a gentle squeeze, she instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Without a word, he bent slightly and hoisted her up, her legs curling naturally around his waist. His grip on her was firm and secure, one hand bracing her just beneath her thighs, the other resting on her lower back.

She let out a surprised laugh, holding onto him tightly. “Max!”

“What? I’ve got you,” he said, his tone light as he kissed her forehead again, this time lingering. “See? No more thinking about whatever they said.”

Her face softened as she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his. “You’re the best,” she whispered, smiling with warmth.

“I know, babe,” he said, swaying slightly as he held her. “And you’re smiling again, so I win.”

She smiled wider, her earlier frustrations fading like a distant memory. “Yeah, you win.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <333

[deppye]

Affini who's in charge of understanding human cultural history but exclusively adopts 2000s-early 2010's 'nerd' internet culture and makes it the basis of her whole personality.

She fashions her vines in a trenchcoat and fedora which she tips at every floret she sees. She's super edgy but in a weird loser kind of way.

She constantly flicks her hair about like she's in a bad fanfiction.

Every time one of her florets orders something at the class J cafe she moves in front of them and goes "stand back petal, I'll handle this."

She constantly says things in butchered Japanese and smugly informs you what the words mean right after.

She unironically uses words like "L33t"and "Haxxor"

One of her t4t catgirl florets exclusively wears anime cosplay and the other looks like they were ripped straight out of a 2012 deviantart EDM OC page one of them is into it and the other can barely hide their perpetual exasperation.

Sometimes she does the *unsheathes sword* shtick with the plastic katana she keeps attached to her like a second skin but every time she does one of her florets just nuts instead.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

you in my eyes [5] l Javier Peña

Summary:  you weren't friends and you certainly weren't planning anything more together

Warnings:  smut, fingering, kissing, enemies (?) to lovers, misogyny and sexism at work, some bad language, Murphy shows up, alcohol

A/N: I don't know how many people read this series, but I wanted to add another chapter. Maybe I can make someone happy with it.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[previous chapter]

[masterlist]

You turned down the TV and sat up on the couch, someone was knocking on the door. It was already late Friday evening, which you decided to spend at home. After Messina announced that O'Connell had been urgently called to the States, you felt calmer. That's why you didn’t go to any pub or place like that.

The knock repeated and you finally approached the door.

"Javier?" the man on the other side smiled “What are you doing here?”

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, a little confused.

"No. But it's late. Is something wrong?"

He raised his hand, in which he held the bottle of whiskey, and waved it, smiling slyly.

"I won the bet," he boasted.

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the door frame, looking at him with interest. Peña was pleased to note that you were wearing a green baggy t-shirt, probably from the department's supply, and your hair was still damp from the shower. You looked nice.

"There was a bet, back at the office. The guys were betting on when O'Connell would give up and come home." Javier explained. "And I won."

"You bet he'd leave right now?"

"No. I said someone would punch him in the face."

You burst out laughing. And even Peña laughed, still holding his bottle in front of you.

"We're partners, so you deserve it, too."

"Oh! How generous of you! You flatter me, Agent Peña."

You bit your lip as if you were thinking about something, then gently pushed the door open, nodding slightly. 

He entered the room, bringing with him the smell of cologne and cigarette smoke.

"I wasn't expecting guests." You announced, pulling glasses out of the cabinet.

"I was wondering if I'd find you home." He mumbled, unscrewing the bottle and giving you a furtive glance. "Didn't you want to go out somewhere?"

You put the glasses down on the coffee table with a clatter and sat down on the couch, pulling your legs under you. "I wasn't in the mood. I think I'll skip places like that for a while."

Javier poured the amber liquid into the glasses and handed one to you, sitting next to you.

"¡Salud!" He raised his glass in a toast, and you did the same. "What are we drinking to?"

"Peace of mind." You replied. "Unless you have other suggestions?"

"Naah. That's good too."

You tipped the glasses down and Javier filled them again.

"Nobody's waiting for you?" you asked as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and lit one. "I think you'd find better company than me."

"Oh! I definitely would!" Javier chuckled, blowing a wisp of smoke from his mouth. "Don't tell anyone I came here, you'll only ruin my reputation."

You laughed and covered your eyes with your hand as if you were thinking about something. "God! Can you imagine that?" Javier raised his eyebrows expectantly. "What the girls in the office say about you, what the guys say about me... And what would they say if we started sleeping together? Damn! Loise would go gray in an hour."

"Murphy would beat the shit out of me." Javier stated, sipping his drink. "He probably thinks you're too good for me."

"And he's right." you shrugged "I could be with the commander, but I'd trade him for a simple agent? Sorry, Peña, no chance."

"Fuck, you're a menace." he snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

It was nice. He sat with you, talked about work and life. Melancholic stories from your past life, no plans for the future, because where you were you didn't really plan anything. Neither of you delved deeper, because why would you, it was just a friendly conversation over a Friday night drink.

After the third glass, he noticed your legs, exactly when you got up to go to the bathroom. The skimpy shorts gave Javier room for imagination. His eyes, dark as night, followed you involuntarily, and then he cleared his throat.

The alcohol was coursing through his veins, he felt hot, so he took off his jacket and threw it on the armchair next to him, rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He didn't even hear you come back. Only the feeling of you sitting down next to him, the smell of your shampoo caught his attention.

"I'm a terrible housekeeper." you stated finishing your drink, Javier raised his head looking at you with interest "I don't have anything to eat, nothing I could give you." you pouted and he chuckled.

"Please, hermosa." he sighed "If I wanted to eat something, I would take you out for dinner. I have a hard time believing you cook anything yourself, to be honest."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise "You're suggesting that..."

"I'm not suggesting anything." he interrupted you and instinctively placed his hand on your thigh, stroking it gently "You just work a lot, like me."

"Maybe if we had someone to cook for sometime..." you pondered, completely not noticing his gesture, which only made Javier not withdraw his hand "Murphy and Connie, they definitely cook."

"Not as often as they both might claim." he raised an eyebrow and you laughed "But Connie is good at it. Anyway, you'll find out tomorrow."

"It's nice that they invited me, I guess..." you lowered your eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed "I mean... We don't know each other that well, right?"

Peña frowned.

"What the hell are you talking about? If it wasn't for you, they would still be collecting our fragments from the surrounding trees by now."

"Don't say that."

"But it's true." he moved closer to you, his hand moved higher, now resting on your hip, his thumb stroking your body hidden under your shirt. Neither of you felt embarrassed by this, maybe it was because of the drinks you had, or maybe it was that night. "You're doing a great job here. Everyone can see it."

"They think I'm a slut." you mumbled almost incomprehensibly and Javier had to tilt his head slightly to hear your words "No matter what I do, I'm labeled an easy girl. You know... I try not to worry about it, people will always talk, but sometimes... Sometimes it hurts."

He grabbed your chin and lifted it slightly. Beautiful brown eyes stared at you intently. "The most important thing is what you think about yourself. Double standards suck, you said so yourself and you were right. Surely if I say you're the coolest chica in the office, it won't change anything, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Please..."

"And you have the prettiest legs." Peña added quickly, you chuckled "Your smile is also very pretty. And when you're excited about something, your eyes widen and shine so nicely." you snorted, your hand closing over his, which was still holding your chin. "And when you yelled at me the first time, I got hard."

The smile disappeared from your lips, which slightly widened in surprise. You fell silent, both of you a little surprised by this bold confession.

"Javier..."

His name was quieter than a whisper, but he heard it clearly. He leaned even closer. Warm breath brushed your lips.

"This is really a very bad idea." you said with difficulty.

"You can stop me, hermosa." His lips lightly brushed yours, you closed your eyelids, inhaling the air.

"Did I really make you hard?"

"Mhmm..." you didn't see the smile of satisfaction on his lips. "They call it difficult working conditions."

It was a split second and you felt his lips on yours. All dilemmas disappeared, and when you kissed him back he knew he was gone. Your hands instantly found their way to his face, your fingers tangled in soft hair and you pulled him closer, parting your lips.

An invitation that Javier read flawlessly. His tongue slipped into your mouth, you tasted the whiskey, and that was even more captivating for him. The kisses were intense, deep as if you both could finally give vent to what had been brewing inside you for a long time. You felt him squeeze your buttock and you moaned, but his tongue effectively muffled you. So you didn't wait for anything more, in an instant you slid onto his lap and clung to his body. Javier felt your breasts under the thin T-shirt, you didn't have a bra. He knew that, of course he had already glanced at your breasts, but when he felt it…

You pulled away from his lips for a moment and looked into his dark eyes.

"You can back out at any time. No hard feelings." you said. "I don't want you to feel..."

"Used?" Javier laughed quietly. "I guess I'm the one who should be saying things like that, don't you think?" his hands gripped your buttocks tighter, making you feel the bulge in his jeans.

"Oh!"

"That's a clear answer, I guess."

He lifted himself up and his lips captured yours again. The excitement grew in your lower abdomen with every passing second, with every kiss and touch. His strong hands shamelessly slid under your shirt, first stroking your back, and after a moment he grabbed your breasts. He kneaded your tits, rolled your nipples between his fingers, and you moaned as much as his tongue in your mouth would allow you.

"Take it off." he ordered, tugging at your shirt.

"Do it yourself."

"You're something else, you know that?"

You bit your lip, smiling obediently, raising your arms up so the shirt could be removed. Javier kissed you the second your lips peeked out from behind your collar. Damn, he was a threat to you.

Large hands explored your body, testing every inch of it, teasing every nerve. Could you want more? God, you didn't have to ask, he wanted to give it all to you.

When he slid his hand into your shorts, you gasped loudly.

"Fuck, you've got a real pool here, sweetheart." he mumbled, smiling slyly. "Would you like me to take care of that?"

A nod.

"Words, hermosa. Just words."

"Yes, please."

He ran his fingers over your folds, hot and wet, knowing perfectly well that he would be able to slide them inside without a problem. And so he did. And when you threw your head back, sighing quietly, he marveled at how wonderful the sight was.

Hot lips closed over one of your nipples, sucking and teasing with his tongue, fingers moving in and out, searching for that spot that could take you apart.

"Shit, Javier..." you moaned.

You clenched your fingers in his hair, hips rising slowly and rhythmically as he finger fucked you. Why did this have to feel so good? You couldn't remember the last time you felt like this, when someone had made you feel so...

"Oh fuck!"

"I think I found it." Javier chuckled, kissing your cleavage, your skin was slightly salty from sweat but still smelled of soft soap and you "I'm holding you, hermosa, take what you need."

He crossed his fingers with his thumb massaging your clit, the pressure was perfect and soon he felt your walls clench around his fingers, your body tensing and you held your breath for a moment feeling the pleasure spread through your body.

You rested your head on Javier's shoulder breathing deeply, his hands stroking your thighs sending a pleasant shiver through your heated skin.

"That was the first one." Peña finally spoke.

"The first one?" you lifted your head and looked at him curiously "Planning more of these?"

"Oh, sweetheart..." he sighed, brushing the strands of hair from your face, then bringing his lips to yours and stealing a tender kiss "At least two more tonight." another kiss "Two in the morning." another one "And how much more will you allow me to have with you, because - fuck - I want to see you cum again. I knew I'd get in trouble with you."

Your hand stroked the back of his neck, you could probably let him have a little more of you.

It was like an addiction. Javier was addicted, and you were his best drug. Before he knew it, you were crawling under his skin, coursing through his veins, and rushing to his head. Sometimes it felt like every time he saw you, his addiction grew.

His fingerprints were all over your body, and he proudly wore yours, even though no one was around to see it. You kept the fact that you were dating a secret, even though you never talked about it like that.

God! You never thought you could fall for a guy like that, and even more so that you would let him do things like that to you. Because sex with Javier was on another level. 

Never before, no one had made you feel so desired, enough, beautiful, and fulfilled. Peña gave you the best orgasms, the ones that left you silent for a moment afterwards because you couldn't form a grammatically correct sentence in your head. The sleep problems disappeared and lazy mornings were something you loved doing with him. 

His sleepy eyes, his hot body, his ruffled hair... In the dictionary, next to the word 'sex', they should have put a picture of Javier, you were sure of that.

In your apartment or in his, in the car in the parking lot, or at work in some tight space, because you wanted a quickie. It was getting more and more intense and what you were feeling was starting to scare you a little. A little over three weeks since O'Connell left, and you felt really good. For a while.

The information about the mole in the office was bothering Messina and she had talked to you about it many times. You promised that you would revolve around it, but for some time you hadn't found any new leads. It was frustrating.

"I talked to informants, but no one would tell me anything." You muttered one evening, resigned.

Peña opened a beer and sat down with his ordered food. "Maybe you're looking in the wrong places? Maybe it's not some higher agent or something?"

"But all this information that's been leaking..." you sighed.

“Honestly, many people have access to it. Hermosa, stop stabbing your food with fork and start eating,” he replied, gesturing to your plate.

However, your gaze drifted away for a moment. Javier noticed it after a moment, huffed impatiently. "Hermosa." he repeated warningly.

"Hmm?"

"You'll have cold food." he shook his head in disbelief. "I really don't know why I'm here with you."

You looked up from your plate and smiled. Your foot, under the table, slowly slid up his leg and headed for his crotch, rubbing it lightly. "I think I know why."

He raised an eyebrow expectantly. It was nice, what was between you. Although neither of you named it. The sex was fucking amazing, you could talk or not talk at all and Javier loved it. You didn't pressure him, you didn't expect declarations or confessions. You took what he gave you, you gave just as much.

And eventually both of you started eating more or less regularly, although the last attempt at cooking ended in burnt chicken, because when Javier came back from work he had a strong urge to get into your panties.

He grabbed you at the ankle and squeezed lightly which made you smile, he loved it. You spent quite a lot of time together and he slowly started to notice the little things he liked about you. Your smile was his favorite though.

"Murphy and I have to go out of town. We'll be gone for a few days." he said watching you as you reached for his beer and took a few sips.

"Anything important? Do you have new sources?" you asked, frowning.

Javier nodded "Yeah, we want to check them out. We also need to watch one guy."

"Okay. Just watch your backs. I won't be able to save your asses there." You squealed as he gripped your calf tighter and pulled you so hard you almost fell off the chair "Peña! Fuck you!"

"You wish." he chuckled, but then turned serious "You watch your back too, hermosa. Promise me that."

And you promised, and then you gave him something so he wouldn't forget about you and would have something to think about when he and Murphy were out of town.

"Will you miss me?"

You shook your head. "I don't think so."

"I think you will." Javier stopped the car in front of the office building and turned off the engine.

It was still early, the streets were empty. You were enjoying your last moments together. His hand on your thigh squeezed you lightly, it was nice.

"Tell me you'll miss me." He looked at you with a gentle smile and those eyes of a poor puppy. "I know you have a soft spot for me."

"You wish!" you chuckled.

"I will."

There was something in his tone of voice that made the laughter die on your lips. Those ambiguous sentences made your heart beat faster, but you calmed it down every time. You didn't want it to happen so soon. And what was that anyway?

"Maybe a little." You finally sighed, his lips stretched into a smile.

"Kiss me, hermosa."

It wasn't a request, more of an order, but you didn't mind. Javier moved closer, you stroked his cheek tenderly, and then you let his lips brush yours. At first gently, because he was teasing you, and he loved doing that. Finally, you curled your fingers in his hair and Javier slid his tongue between your lips, you moaned. His hand grabbed your waist as if he wanted to pull you even closer. Damn, he kissed like a dream.

Another brush of lips, another tender touch. Finally, he rested his forehead against yours and sighed. "Maybe we still have time, huh? Murphy will definitely be late."

"I don't think so." you replied quietly.

"He's always late."

“But not today.”

Javier looked at you, surprised, and then turned around. Steve was standing in front of the hood of his car, his glasses slid down his nose and he looked at you with disbelief on his face.

You opened the door. "I guess I'll go now." you said, smiling uncertainly, "Take care of yourselves."

"You too, hermosa." Javier replied, sitting down in his seat and putting on his glasses.

Steve nodded in your direction, then walked over to the car. "Really?" he asked, staring at his friend, "You and her? Really?"

Peña didn't even look at him, "Get in."

"Is that why you haven't been so annoying lately?" Murphy chuckled, but got in and closed the door with a soft click.

The engine started and the car slowly rolled down the road.

It was strange. They managed to come back a day early. He wanted to surprise you. He even bought some oranges, which you liked so much lately. But the apartment door was closed. Javier kept knocking for a while. He glanced at his watch. It was late, so you should have…

"She left." The older man peeked out from behind the neighboring door and glared at Javier.

"Long time ago?" he asked, surprised.

The man shrugged. "I don't remember. But she looked really nice." He smiled slightly. “You must have been late, boy. If she’s not here yet…”

Javier nodded and quickly went down the stairs. Something strange tightened his insides. He didn't expect this...

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @qpiiee @missladym1981 @axshadows @djappleblush @picketniffler @txmel @wowitsafemale @cheekychaos28 @underneath-the-sky-again @misstokyo7love

[blue-arkhamknight]

SKETCHES.

Warning: None. (Damian, Jon, and reader are age ten to make the story a bit more sweeter.)

── .✦

── .★

School wasn’t so bad! If you look at it from Damian’s perspective it’s awesome. He gets to learn AND play music. He’s a very tasked kid, playing about 5 instruments. Impressive isn’t it? Violin, guitar, trumpet, viola, and harmonica. Let me say, he’s proud.

For his age the boy shared a love for classical music. A habit of scrunching his nose when he heard some of the school bands play harsh music. It wasn’t like an abomination or something, but just not his cup of tea. Jon, his friend really was just the opposite. From insulting Mozart to shredding his messy and loud electric guitar in his main solos.

Lunch was one of his favorite parts of the day. The food he got to eat and practicing of his instruments, sounds of the bow hitting the strings of his perfectly tuned instrument. Truly it was heavenly to his ears. “You messed up again.” a voice he had memorized rang in his head like an echo, immediately looking embarrassed with the biggest frown. “I certainly do not mess up. Clean your ears.” he told you with a scowl.

You looked up at him from your sketchbook, doing a sketch piece that you forgot as homework in lunch time while you listened to him play. “But you did- you played C minor instead of D.” you said and pointed at his music sheet. Damian huffed and looked where your finger pointed. “Yeah, I knew that. I was just testing you.” he said, his tone betraying him and saying in a hidden way ‘Yeah I messed up.’.

The assignment you had wasn’t difficult, hence to why you forgot to do it. The instructions were: ‘Draw someone or anything as many times as you liked, but you had to fill the whole page.’ your teacher had spoken in class. Damian tried to peek at your page, failing. Your arm was hiding it like a person who wouldn’t let anyone cheat off their exam. He fairly came to the conclusion that it wasn’t fair. You never showed him your art! He always showed you his paintings and musical errors without hiding them!

He still made no fuzz, no matter how much he wanted to look at the sketchbook he respected that maybe you didn’t feel comfortable with sharing your drawings. Damian understood how most artists were embarrassed of showing their works and that was normal. He continued playing his violin, from playing his piece to playing Howl’s Moving Castle. For a moment you stopped with the pencil strokes.

You mentioned many times before Howl’s Moving Castle, though they were mindless thoughts and some homework doodles. Damian had taken his time to memorize the famous melody in his violin. His gaze was torn between you and his fingers on the violin strings and his other hand on his bow. The gaze was intense, like a stoic way of saying ‘Hey! I learned this for you.’. Other students and teachers paused to look at Damian, ones impressed and others recognizing the tune. Equally, your gaze fixated on him also.

Soon your hand moved on the paper once again, calm with the familiar melody as you drew the familiar boy in front of you with his violin. The drawing wasn’t an exact copy of the moment of course, but it was very clear it was Damian Wayne. That was the reason you didn’t show him your drawings. It would be weird to show your friend he’s secretly your muse. The stop of the music made you look up, his face scrunched up in a way of silently saying that you should be excited. In a quick panic you just clapped your hands, making others that had heard clap along.

It was priceless. His red face full of embarrassment. The claps died down and his face went back to normal slowly. He frowned at you and gave you a huff, “I wished to be appreciated, but not from the whole school.” he stoically stated, exaggerating in the slightest. “Sorry, Wayne.” you said back apologetically, only getting a “Tt.” from him.

────

“I will walk today, Pennyworth.” the boy addressed the man through the passenger window the butler had rolled down. Alfred was indeed surprised. “Alright, Master Damian. Are you sure you will not even drop your violin in the vehicle?” his father’s butler asked, making Damian open a door and leave the violin case securely on the seat and closing the door again. He ran to his friends (whether he liked to admit it or not, you and Jon were his friends.), stopping right in front of the guitarist and artist.

After a while of friendly banter, Jon waved and walked away. Now being alone with Damian he took a notice of the hour. “I will walk you home.” he stated. Not even a ‘Can I walk you home?’. You didn’t comment on it since you didn’t have a ride home. “Okay, Damian.” you spoke with a grateful nod.

He walked with you to your home, making small talk and getting a few laughs and smiles out of you which were secretly his goal. Damian also carried your lunchbox. It was a habit he got from the first day of school, which you guys met. You had teasingly asked him to carry your lunchbox and he surprisingly did it. Grumpily, but he still did, after that he developed a habit of doing it. As you stepped foot in front of your door step you turned around, looking at the boy as he made a call for Alfred to pick him up. You dropped your bag mindlessly and companied him in front of your own house to wait for his ride.

“Thank you for walking me home.” you thanked, earning a nod from him. “No problem.” he brushed off, setting your lunchbox next to your bookbag and without you noticing he grabbed something from your bookbag and closed the zipper quietly, putting the item on the inside his jacket. “You okay?” you asked after seeing his rapid movements. “Yes, I am alright.” he said looking over at you and pretending to fix the cuffs of his jacket.

Alfred arrived after about 10-20 minutes, stopping right in front of your house. “Bye Damian! See you at school!” you said with a smile and a wave. He returned the wave and a small “Yeah, bye.”. He hopped in the back seat of the car and Alfred rolled down the window. “Thank you for waiting with him.” Alfred said gratefully, “No problem, Alfred. See you soon!” you responded. You knew the Wayne family for a bit now, Alfred and Bruce being very fond of Damian having another friend aside Jon.

You got inside your house when you took your backpack and lunch box and Alfred made sure. The car got out of view once he made sure you were safely inside. Now that Damian was alone he took out the thing he had taken. Your sketchbook. He knew he was doing something very wrong, but curiosity killed the cat. He flipped page through page of your art assignments. There were studies and all, but he mainly saw himself. Damian realized that, one; your drawings were awesome, two; he felt- happy? How would he work this out? …

How would he tell you that he was Robin?

──── ⋆˚✿˖° ────

──── ⋆˚✿˖° ────

I wrote again!! I need to add more dialogue to my stories and better them. I don’t know if i should continue this.

[veephoenix]

track by track series | n.s. one shot

A quick something I wrote as a tiny wave of inspo kicked in while I was staring at those new pictures in the studio. No trigger warnings. Just fluff and an implied sexual scenario at the end. I might give it a title later. | Words: 700aprox. | I'll probably turn this into a series comprised of random scenes that take place in the studio. You can read the last song as a previous part to his.

There’s something about the silence in the studio once it empties out—when the boys abandon their instruments, the machinery, and the space sinks into an almost sepulchral quiet, where the musical notes that had been filling the air just minutes earlier are relegated to a nonexistent plane.

As much as I love being there to offer them my support and watching them strive minute after minute to achieve that near-perfection they’ll showcase in front of thousands of people hours later, there’s nothing like finding yourself standing in the middle of an empty studio.

The remaining daylight still filters through the tall windows, and the human warmth of the team lingers between the stone walls. If I try hard enough, I can visualize the boys there, each in the position they’ve been in all morning. I can see Noah in the center, behind the stand, holding his mic, his lips brushing the casing in almost the same way they brush against my skin when he kisses me and we make love.

I don’t realize I’m smiling. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone, and once I confirm it, I drop my backpack onto the floor, over the Persian rug, take off my shoes, and sit cross-legged. From my bag, I pull out a notebook and a pen. I lift my gaze once toward the view outside the windows, and a moment later, I’m writing words onto the paper, drawing lines, creating something like poetry that Jolly will probably tweak and turn into the lyrics of a song.

I suppose at this point, some might be wondering where I am while they gather in the hotel lobby deciding where to go for dinner. I’m far from there, both physically and mentally. Minutes slip away, and so do the hours.

By the time the light turns golden, signaling the sunset, I’m lying on my stomach on the rug, my socked feet in the air, brushing against each other as I continue writing and nibbling on my lip, searching for the most fitting word to end this poem—if you can call it that.

When the air shifts, I don’t notice because I’m so absorbed in my own world and the warmth of the studio, though I should have recognized that familiar sensation—that feeling that tells me my favorite human is occupying the same space as me.

I don’t notice his footsteps as he approaches because he’s careful not to break my moment, and because he wants to surprise me—which inevitably means that once he’s within reach, he can’t resist the urge to touch me and he'll break my momentum. His hands catch one of my ankles in the air, making my heart leap in my chest, and when I look over my shoulder, my eyes meet his, and suddenly, I’m grinning like an idiot.

Noah pulls off my sock, and an instant later, he’s leaning down to kiss the inside of my ankle. I scrunch my nose.

“Don’t do that,” I say, feeling coy. “I walked here from the hotel. I need a shower.”

Noah releases my ankle and straightens up, raising his eyebrows. “What do you mean? Are you saying your feet smell bad? Because all I smell here is Thai food.”

For a moment, I don’t get the joke. Then Noah wiggles his eyebrows suggestively toward a sturdy wooden desk behind him. There are a couple of paper bags.

This time, it’s my eyebrows that shoot up as my eyes widen.

“I thought we could have dinner here,” Noah announces, glancing quickly at the food and then shrugging, still watching me as I remain lying on the floor. “Just you and me.”

It’s things like this that make me love him so much.

And the only way I know how to show him this love is by accepting what he offers me—his food and his care.

I hurriedly gather my things while Noah pulls containers out of the bag and hands me a plate of pad thai, still warm and smelling of lemongrass and other spices I can’t identify. Noah sits in front of me, also cross-legged, and together we devour the food, practically in silence.

After a while, my hands find their way to his body, because there’s not a single day I can spend too much time in his presence without touching him, without feeling the brush of his skin against mine.

I value the time I spend alone creating art, but there is no masterpiece more wonderful than him and the way he loves me.

[chisubi]

from the lovers’ grave — h. ran

content. fem!reader, one (1) suggestive scene near the end, something about grief, mourning, and love

word count. 10.7k

note. this was not meant to be long. originally, all i had planned was the scene with ran and rindō at the end talking and the confession scene for practice (i hate confessions) i am not sure what happened . . . also, this is unedited.

In the grand scheme of things, there were more good times than bad.

Of course, there’s no denying that during their teenage years of growing up, at some point, things have been deteriorating. Spiraling and spiraling and sprialing. They were just boys being boys, doing the only things they knew how to do, fighting and surviving; those moments were full of fun, exhilarating, a temporary bliss in this little corner of the world of theirs.

However, boys like them don’t live for long. They aren’t meant to. Just like how the saying goes: live fast, die young. Ran supposes the saying is true. Many of the people he’d known died before reaching adulthood, just like him — Kurokawa Izana. That’s just life, after all.

His funeral is a simple one. Nothing grand, and rather than how plain it is, it is more surprising how someone without a family – an orphan – is able to have a proper funeral. People like them never have one, forgotten by everyone and everything. And the one who stays forgotten by the world is Izana [to no one’s surprise], except for the few remaining members of the S-62 generation. Multiple police officers that keep a keen eye on all of them, and none of them are stupid enough to try and escape on a day like this — their bond with Izana is worth much more than that. It wasn’t something so shallow.

There are no decorations besides the white chrysanthemums and white lilies sitting in front of an old picture of him — a picture of when he first was admitted into juvenile detention all those years ago, he looked so young, his eyes were the same then as they are now. Dead. No sign of light. His cold body lies in a plain wooden casket. It’s an empty, stifling ceremony.

Shion is uncharacteristically quiet, and that alone would’ve been an insane sight if it were another day, but everyone understands his silence today. Nobody mentions it. Nobody says anything at all. It’s so silent, each breath drawn echoes, and something feels extremely off about the ceremony — something that has Ran glancing around the room every couple of minutes.

An obvious reason for this is how Kakuchō is not here; that kid would never miss this for anything, everyone knows this, and Ran can assume what happened. His injuries must be quite severe, and it’s rather a miracle that he had woken up, heck, even much earlier than the doctor’s expected. A sign of God’s mercy (and for a moment, in that cramped cell, Ran is a believer of faith). If Kakuchō is still awake, there’s no doubt he would be longfully staring out that white hospital room. Those cold, sad eyes of his watching the way the snow falls, burying the world.

And the other reason is how at the front of this cramped room, right next to the casket, sits a girl Ran has never seen before. It's alarming. Your head stays down as you only look at Izana, you haven’t bothered to look up since they have entered the room earlier. Ran can’t help, but wonder who you are. Who you are to Izana. An outsider to the S-62 generation that Izana had built from cold, scarred hands for delinquents like him. Ran wants to know so badly, but he is too tired, and now isn’t the time to focus on people he doesn’t know nor cares about.

Ran slips the singular white flower into Izana’s folded hands, all stiff, scarred, and freezing cold. A body of a dead man. He decides to place another: Kakuchō’s offering. Perhaps, that kid’s prayers would reach him, his heart has always been more pure than all of theirs combined, a softer soul trapped within this cruel world. Ran doesn't know why, but he whispers to Izana that he is sorry (he doesn’t know for what — maybe, everything), yet his eyes dwell on you.

When you turn and catch his curious eyes, he doesn’t look away; neither do you. Attempting to smile, it’s almost as if he’s looking straight into a mirror; a shiver runs down his spine.

He smiles back.

—

August tastes like cigarettes and bitter cherries. Just like it had last year in February, when blood, bones and ash had fallen and scattered around Yokohama that cold night, moments before the snow began to fall down. Gradients of whites and reds painting the town.

It’s a rather cool evening for a summer day when Ran finds himself visiting Yokohama after so long (even after his release, which had been quite some time ago, he hasn’t stepped foot here). There’s melancholy lingering in the air, much like how it always clings onto to long summer nights. Ran welcomes this, allowing his feet to lead him. Anywhere, everywhere, or nowhere at all. He just walks down the bustling streets, endlessly.

Something feels strange. . . Something is going to change this summer, something big; the unexpected always comes to people like him.

Downtown, there's a small bar that catches his eye. There's nothing too special about the shop — decorated with tacky neon flickering signs. Open, reflecting within his eyes. There's something inside of him that tells him he needs to enter, and so, he does just that.

And that feeling of his comes true within minutes. Ran sees you again. Coincidentally [or perhaps, fate, or by total chance].

The Izakaya isn’t really filled with people; either due to it still being early, since work hours are still going on or it just isn’t popular among the many identical shops along this street. And he should’ve invited Rindō to come with him; who enters and eats at an Izakaya alone? Ran has never gone out to eat or drink alone before, either way, it’s not like he’s a kid, so it doesn’t really matter that much, but he knows Rindō will be bitching to him about going out to eat alone. Well, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later.

Ran sits down at a table for two; ordering a small plate of yakitori and umeshu, something sweet and cold to drink. A waitress comes over and places his food down, his eyes widening at a familiar face, he speaks before he thinks, “Do you remember me?”

Your brows draw together, you look him up and down, then shake your head. “I. . . I am not too sure. I don’t believe so. Have we met before?”

He pauses. Disappointment swirls in his stomach, sinking. He tries not to think about why it makes him feel that way — like, disappointment is normal, but he knows he’s not someone unforgettable. “No. I must’ve been mistaken. Sorry ‘bout that.” He offers you a polite smile and that’s when he sees your eyes widen in recognition, the bar’s yellow lights flickering in yours; shining, shining, shining.

His finger glides against the rim of the glass cup, as he waits for you to speak — he knows you will say something. The ice cube clinks against the glass.

Clink. . . clink. . . clink.

“Oh—! Wait, um, you’re from the funeral. . .?” Uncertain as you carefully utter those words, he confirms this, and your eyes brighten. “Oh, hold on. Sorry, I can’t really talk right now, but my shift ends in twenty minutes,” you drift off, eyes darting toward the old big clock that hangs on the wall. You hopefully ask, “Wait for me?”

He nods. “Yeah, sure,” Ran casually says, ”take your time.” You thank him with a smile.

[Twenty minutes turn into fourty, and for some reason, he stays and waits for you. The yakitori was worth it, anyway. He’s grown to appreciate the taste of plums a little more today, too. It’s sweet.]

The both of you don’t say much tonight. Only indulging in introductions and small talk. The pier isn’t so far from the Izakaya, barely a ten minute walk away. When the two of you sit on the ledge, close yet not close enough to be touching, it’s all silent. Not a comforting one — one where the air feels thicker and there’s this itch where he feels as if he needs to say something to break this awkward tension. Curiously silent, because Ran has a lot of things to say — things he needs to know, but that can wait for another day.

“It’s a little breezy tonight,” you attempt to break the silence. He can tell there’s a lot on your mind, too, but you probably won’t say anything either. Not tonight, at least.

He offers, “Would you like my cardigan?”

You shake your head, declining. “No, but thank you. You might get cold without it.”

Relief runs over him when you decline because he is cold, he tends to get cold easily (which is something he and Rindō argue about because Rindō always, always, always turns the heat down in their apartment because he gets hot easily, even though Ran tells him not to touch it), and doesn’t like sharing his clothes or anything he owns with anyone. But Ran is a gentleman, or so he tries to be, girls feel special when he acts like this, and he likes making them think that. Well, sometimes he does. Sometimes, he doesn’t know.

“If you say so. That was my one and only offer so don’t complain after,” he halfheartedly teases (he still thinks you should’ve accepted it, because anyone would’ve if he was the one offering, but that’s your loss, really).

Maybe the way he was joking misses, because you simply reply, “I won’t.” And he hums. Silence falls over again.

“He was such an idiot,” your voice is anything but harsh when you say this. So soft, fond, a whisper of love. Too angelic, Ran is sure it will never reach him. He almost misses your words under the waves, too.

He doesn’t know who you are to Izana. A part of him understands, though. No matter what you two were or who you are, he knows you have loved Izana so dearly, you probably have for a long time. It’s quite obvious, the feeling of him that lingers onto you — he can feel it all.

His fists tightens around nothing, nail digging into his palm. How come he has never seen or heard of you before? Ran knows for a fact that Kakuchō knows you. Does Shion as well? He’s obsessed with Izana, obsessed to an unhealthy degree, so surely he knows or at least has caught a glimpse of you before. Maybe he really didn’t know Izana at all.

It’s kind of frustrating, he thinks.

Ran agrees with you. Though, he doesn’t verbally express it. Izana really was an idiot, a selfish one who was always stuck in his own head, and Ran would never get to tell him that. He’ll never get to tell him anything again. Bitterness, regret, and anger fill him for a split second, only a second, not a millisecond longer, because these emotions quickly fade back into nothing. Nothing because Ran can do nothing, but feel nothing.

“Do—Do you usually sit out here, doing nothing? Watching the world?” he sniffles. It’s summer, midsummer, heat is supposed to consume them, especially during these short nights, but the weather has been strange lately. He’s not even cold, it’s just when the breeze passes by, he gets bad shivers.

The flame of the lighter flickers, you’re lighting a cigarette — he didn’t peg you as a smoker (despite only knowing you for less than an hour at maximum), and he grimaces once he catches sight of a little pink box sliding back into your pocket. Pianissimo. Peach flavoured, of course, he almost snorts.

“Sometimes,” you reply as you breathe out the smoke. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

You pass the cigarette to him, he accepts, saying, “Nah, it’s fine.” Your smeared lip gloss stains the tip of the cigarette, his lips overlap with the marking, inhaling the bitter smoke to feel that familiar burn, it’s quite mild compared to what he prefers, something sweet lingers within, too.

“Okay, but that was my one and only offer.”

Ran chuckles at the familiar remark, and you let one out, too. “Okay. I get it.” He passes back the cigarette. “A cheeky one, aren’t you?” It comes off more flirtatious than intended, but it makes you smile at him, cheekily.

You’re captured by the moonlit water, cigarette ashes drifting down, down, down, eyes taken by the ashes, his eyes drift back to you, and that sentimental expression you wear.

(Losing someone isn’t anything new. It’s normal in a world like this. He wonders if you know this; you definitely do.)

—

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

“I am sure,” you tell him, “it’s not even a party, it’s just a get together. Go have fun with your boys. Hasn’t it been a while since you’ve hung out like that?”

“Knowing them it will be a party instead,” Kakuchō replies with a short sigh. He has never been too fond of crowds and strangers. You wonder why he is so insistent on you joining, however you don’t ask. You tell him you are sure and want to stay home, before shoo-ing him out the door.

And despite your warnings [nagging, as Kakuchō likes to call it], when you go to see him the next day, you’re met with a hungover Kakuchō and two boys knocked out on his old, leather couch. One of them is barely hanging on, half of his body is dangling off, and you aren’t sure how he didn’t wake up from being uncomfortable. And the other, you are quick to recognise as Haitani Ran.

Kakuchō was indeed right. It’s always a party with the Haitani brothers, you’ve heard this from others before, too. You take a second glance at Kakuchō. Poor, poor, poor Kakuchō, who can barely open his eyes and stumbles his way towards you, more so to what you have in your hand, that glutton, you almost burst into giggles.

You greet him, asking him simple questions like: did you have fun last night? Too much fun, you guess. Are you hungry? And he’s replying to each one with nods and grunts and incoherent strings of ‘yeah’, ‘uh-huh’, and the most annoying one of all, ‘what’. Maybe, you both were too loud because the sound of shuffling behind catches yours and Kakuchō's attention. Both boys are awake — stuck in a similar state as Kakuchō — sets of tired purple eyes peering around the room as if they didn’t even realise they crashed at their younger friend’s place.

After a few seconds, Ran speaks up. “Oh. Good morning.” He doesn’t look too surprised seeing you. His hand ruffles through his wavy hair, smoothing out his bed head as he flashes you a grin. Ran has a pretty smile. He’s pretty first thing when he wakes up, and that alone makes you envious. It’s unfair.

“Hi, good morning,” your voice comes out a little quieter than you wish it had.

Ran is still smiling, as he repeats, “Good morning.” A slight pause as you smile, too. He cocks his head to the side, introducing the boy beside him. “My baby brother, Rinrin,” he lazily introduces.

“Don’t call me that,” the boy [Rinrin] grumbles as he turns to you and gives a slight nod, “Rindō.” Rindō, not Rinrin, bends down to sweep up a shirt from the floor, slipping it back on, covering his tattoo, long black ink that paints half his chest. Your eyes linger for a moment too long, before moving onto Ran, whom for some strange reason, you know to have the other half of that tattoo on his body. They look so different yet alike.

Ran raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging on his corner of his lip once he catches your lingering gaze. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He mouths, ‘What?’, you turn your head away, feeling embarrassed. Your body heat rises to your neck, cheeks, and ears.

You can feel another set of eyes on you, not belonging to Ran, however you don’t look back up. You place the homemade bento on the counter, Kakuchō lets out a sigh, “Finally.” You roll your eyes at the boy.

“Sorry, I didn’t know Kakuchō would be having guests, so I only made enough for one person. . .”

You aren’t actually sorry. It’s just a little awkward. Kakuchō could’ve given you a heads up. It feels rude only bringing a meal enough for one when there’s a party of four (though, you didn’t plan on staying over after dropping off his food).

“Nah, it’s cool. We can share,” Ran says.

“No. Let’s order something else, too. I’m starving.” Rindō brings up. You all collectively agree with him because there’s no way the food you had brought is enough for the four of you.

Ran orders yakisoba and soda for all of you. Kakuchō loudly complains when he notices the two of them picking at the food you made for him, even with the yakisoba right there.

—

“So,” Ran begins.

You look up at him. “So?”

“Can I call you later?”

“For what?”

“To see you again,” he replies, “I have a feeling we’re going to keep running into each other.”

“That may be so.”

—

Haitani Ran was right. You do meet again and again and again. Sometimes he will get a call, lips pressing into a thin line, threatening to fall into a frown as he slips into another room for a few minutes before coming out to tell you that he has to go. He doesn’t say what, you don’t ask, but you know. It’s the same thing that has Kakuchō leaving his apartment in the middle of the night, too. You try not to think about it – acknowledge it – it has nothing to do with you.

He stops by from time to time, dropping by whenever he is in the neighbourhood, much like today. You’re no longer surprised when you open the door to be met with that charming smile of his, rather once you hear the familiar sound of knocking or ringing of the doorbell, you sort of expect it to be Ran.

“You play the guitar?” His line of gaze falls onto the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner of the living room.

“Hm? Oh no, that belongs to Izana.” Used to. A pause, before you add, “There was a time when I used to beg him to teach me and he gave up after an hour.”

Ran snorts as his lips curl up. “That’s a good job for you then. He would’ve given up on the guys in less than five minutes so you probably did okay, right?”

You laugh at his words. It’s the truth, because Izana has always been an impatient (impulsive) guy. “Maybe. Kakuchō was able to learn how to play it, and I remember being a little jealous of him because Izana seemed happy to have someone to talk about music with.”

You were jealous, upset, embarrassed at your lack of ability — you thought, maybe you just aren’t talented? You eventually came to terms with it. But there were moments when you would watch Izana and Kakuchō play their guitars (—Izana set money aside and bought a used guitar just for Kakuchō, you assume Kakuchō leaves it hidden away, far away from everyone and everything), the room fills with music and you would be sitting on the couch listening, listening, and listening until you’re slowly drifting asleep to their melodies.

You take a hollow breath.

“Those two have known each other since they were kids. . . Ah, you, as well, right?” he asks and you nod your head in confirmation.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Ran lifts his eyes to meet yours. Ever so purple, beautifully vibrant, like a gem, you’re afraid it could shatter. He smiles, softer, sadder. “I see. The three of you have a special bond then. Something others cannot replicate.”

Your heart races, then pangs at his words. Something special.

Yeah, it is special, you could never forget it. Even if you wanted to.

“Just like you and your brother. The charismatic brothers of Roppongi: the Haitani brothers,” you say, voice light with a small smirk on your lips. “I have heard some stories about you two.”

“Mhm, I bet you have. All good things, I assume?”

You tease, “Maybe, maybe not.”

He chuckles to himself. “So, good rumours,” he concludes with a satisfied look, “I am Haitani Ran, after all.” Definitely nothing good, you both know, or so, you assume Ran knows.

You agree, “That’s right, Mr. Haitani.”

He smirks at the name.

Ran doesn’t ask if it’s okay to touch the guitar, he just takes it, yet you can’t find yourself getting upset or complaining about it. You watch as he plops down onto the couch, patting the spot next to him, indicating you to come over, in which you do. “Ran, do you know how to play?”

He looks over at you and winks, “Oh, honey, that’s what you are about to find out. Keep your eyes on me.”

You roll your eyes.

It’s not even two minutes later, when you do find out, just like Ran had said. You learn he doesn’t know how to play at all. Ran plays the same tune over and over again, or he attempts to, it sounds nothing like the pretty way Izana plays. It’s clunky, off-tune, yet something about it feels tender. So, so gentle; your heart trembles along with the tune. Ran doesn’t seem to care about his lack of skills; lavender eyes softly gazed on the way his slender fingers move against the strings — a faint smile to his lips, rosy and glossy from your cherry lip balm you saw him put on earlier, as he plays Izana’s beloved acoustic guitar.

You remember Izana at this moment. The way he played all his favourite songs — how Bohemian Rhapsody and Under Pressure was played on repeat in his little apartment. How, on this very couch that you and Ran are sitting on, he used to get frustrated at how you couldn’t memorise or understand what he was teaching you (and in your defense, he sucks at teaching, definitely one of the only things he has ever sucked at), and you would cry at his frustration. Izana eventually gave up and instead learned to play your favourite song for you.

You wanted to learn it yourself, but you were so happy at the same time. It felt special. You felt special.

You remember, you remember, you close your eyes, and you remember it all. It dances to the memories every day, a little record stuck on repeat. It’s all you have left of him. What if one day your heart suddenly doesn’t remember?

“Falling asleep to my playing?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

Opening your eyes, all you see is Ran in front of you.

You shake your head and smile at the sight, Ran catches it and flashes a pretty smile back, laughing beneath his breath as he attempts to show off by playing a series of random chords quickly. Giggling at his antics, you attempt to sing along; humming a random tune as the two of you try to match each other, clearly missing the beat. Soft laughter, light teasing, Ran playing the guitar and you singing along fills the room in your apartment. Your hearts dance along, ever so intimately. You feel light, so light, and you haven’t felt this way in a long time.

Maybe you could get used to this (perhaps, you already are).

“I don’t know anything about guitars or any instrument,” he admits, “maybe besides the recorder.” He looks disheartened at the fact as he stops playing and his fingernail taps against the wood, it echoes back.

“It’s okay, I am no good at it either. I also only know how to play the recorder,” only because it is mandatory to learn in primary school. “I am probably better than you at it, though.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge, young miss?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” he says. “Someday, of course.”

You nod. “Someday.”

—

Ran sleeps with you for the first time tonight. After dinner, he was too lazy, and your couch was too comfortable, so he didn’t want to leave, and you didn’t really seem to think of anything when you offered for him to stay the night. He didn’t think much of it when he agreed. It’s so innocent, yet more intimate than everything he has ever known. He feels. . . strange.

Your mattress is quite small, however Ran prefers it this way for obvious reasons. The dip in the mattress that allows you to get closer, he can feel your body heat so vividly, if he closed his eyes he could probably imagine it, except he doesn’t. He just stares at your bare face, who stares back at him.

“Your hair looks so pretty like this, Ran. I like it.” Your compliment makes him smile, it’s not often when someone witnesses his hair down, wavy and what he considers to be a mess. Your finger runs over the loose waves, twirling the end with your fingertip. He thinks you look pretty, too, in your pajamas, and bare faced.

You ask, “Can I braid your hair when we wake up tomorrow?”

“I like my hair a certain way.” He replied without much thought. He almost doesn’t notice that he didn’t necessarily reject the request.

You pout your lips, and give Ran your best puppy eyes — little gems are shooting out of your eyes towards him, but he is not one to fall for that. Do you think he’d be the type to fall for a cheap trick? If he were, he would’ve been screwed ages ago. You picked the wrong person for that. “Is that a no?”

He softly hums, debating to himself. “I am just—” he tries to think of the right word. He just hates when others touch his hair, his clothes, his jewelry, he spends so much time perfecting his appearance — he hates when others ruin it. “I rarely let Rindō touch my hair.” He decides to say this, because it’s something people can come to understand.

“I learn quickly. . .”

He sighs. Not one out of annoyance, more so at how he is so quick to give into your wishes. “Alright, fine. I will teach you how I like it done tomorrow.” You’re lucky that you’re cute, he almost adds.

He bites his tongue.

But he doesn’t know why. He says those types of things all the time. It’s a strange night. He’s been doing things he doesn’t do or say.

You lift your hand to his face, your pinky sticks out, “Promise?”

A pinky promise. Ran almost snorts — he would’ve if he weren’t so tired, if you didn’t look so cute and serious, and he would have laughed if it were someone else. Ran hasn’t pinky promised since he was a kid, barely eleven, promising something mundane to Rindō (the world, Roppongi, a new house, a new life, he remembers, he always will).

He softly sighs, sending you a sleepy smile as he locks your pinky with his. His thumb presses against yours, sealing the promise with a kiss. His eyes flicker down to your soft lips, you are grinning so happily over a mere pinky promise, what a simple thing bringing you happiness. “I promise.”

For a moment, he thinks he could give you something worth more than this little promise — pretty, shiny things that could make you smile even more. But he knows you aren’t someone like that. And that’s fine to him.

If braiding his hair makes you happy, for some weird reason, then he’s okay with it, too.

—

Ran awakens in the middle of the night, the room is coated in darkness, the moonlight shines through the crack of the curtain and that is how he knows it is still night time. He is not used to not sleeping in his own bed, he immediately notices your lack of presence, fingers tracing the empty surface, the side you had slept on is barely warm; you were still here not too long ago.

He slowly gets up, quietly walking down the hall to find you sitting curled up on the couch, on the side that is closest to the wall where Izana’s guitar rests. Unaware of him, his presence, and everything else in the world.

He lingers everywhere in your apartment, your home, your mind. It leaves Ran questioning: when you make a person your home, where do you go when they’re gone? Where do you go? Tell him.

He leans against the wall, asking, “You can’t sleep?”

Your body jolts. Your head snaps up, as you glance in his direction, and you shake your head, beginning to relax. “Oh, Ran. . . No, I was just getting some water.”

He hums, going along with your poorly webbed lie, your heart is exposed bare on your sleeve, so cold, lonely, he glances from the empty coffee table to the acoustic guitar to your unshed tears. You are seriously a terrible liar. That’s a good thing for him. “Do you mind the company?” He doesn’t want to intrude somewhere he doesn’t belong.

You shake your head once again, “No. Not at all.” You pat the spot next to you, and Ran moves from the wall to the spot next to you. You’re watching him silently, sinking back into the cushions.

“Are you thinking about him?”

You tilt your head towards him, sending a weak smile, unable to find the words for an answer that the both of you already knew.

“It’s okay. Sometimes, I still think about him, too.” He assures.

You ask, “You do?” You sound rather surprised, and he is also surprised by his own honesty.

“Yeah. He was. . .” Words die easily on his tongue as he struggles to find the right words to say. There’s not much he can say, despite all of the memories and feelings he once had. What can he even say about Izana? He can’t think of anything nice or normal that one would say about an acquaintance (friend, comrade, boss). “He was an interesting guy. I kinda admired him.”

He was an interesting guy, Ran had thought so their first meeting, years ago back in juvie. He was the only person that left a deep impression on him. Izana was many things. Anything, but a good man. He used to be a good boy (probably), once so long ago. Ran really did admire him, he wouldn’t have followed just anyone. He admired him to the point where he spent his entire youth following the boy.

“I did, too.” Barely heard even in this room containing only the two of you, it sounds a little bitter. Just a tad.

“Yeah, I’m sure he knows,” he says, leaning his head down to rest on top of yours. You breathe quietly next to him, all of the little noises can be heard in this silence. Your legs stretch out, dangling beside his.

It’s a long time before either of you speak. And then, you look up at him. There’s something glimmering in your eyes.

You tell him a story and then two more of your childhood. You laugh and tear up through them. He laughs, stays silent, and smiles as he tentatively listens to your every word. It’s his turn, you don’t ask him, but it’s only fair if he shares something personal with you; something he and only Rindō know. He wants you to know. He wants to tell you sides of him that he’s outgrown and sides that nobody knows. He tells you about the dog Rindō wants to adopt one day, you say you want to see it, but Ran tells you about how he doesn’t really want to have pets in his apartment (though, it’s sometimes hard to say no to Rindō). You tell him about the stray cat you used to feed a few months ago, and how you haven’t seen her in a few weeks. She’s probably fine, Ran tries to assure you, there’s a chance somebody had picked her up and adopted her. You hope so.

The two of you fall asleep on your couch, one far too small for him, curled up, and entangled together. He sleeps so soundly, the cotton of his shirt soaking up your silent tears.

[Ran believes — no, he knows that he visited you in a dream last night. He must’ve. You look so at peace.

The sun hits, orange light shining through the gaps of the curtains, and you look so at peace as you sleep, leg wrapped around his waist as you lay against his chest. His fingers run through your hair, carefully, not wanting to wake you. His index finger ghosts over your cheek and Ran freezes when you shift in your sleep, smiling when he realises you aren’t going to wake.

You must be a heavy sleeper. Or maybe, you’re having a sweet dream and aren’t ready to wake yet.

He admires you for minutes that seem to last forever. He comes to terms with the fact that he’s doomed, and decides he doesn’t want to think about it or you anymore, before drifting back to sleep.]

—

When morning hits (or rather afternoon), Ran stops to look at you before leaving. His hand lingers on the doorknob. “You’ll be okay?”

You nod. “. . . Should be,” you reply, smiling. “See you later, Ran, and thank you.”

His eyes are gazing down at you, his expression seemingly confused — conflicted, before his eyes soften, turning back into pretty little gems. His smile is so pretty. “I’ll call you,” he says.

It’s a promise.

—

It’s Wednesday, your afternoon lecture was cancelled due to the professor’s sudden family emergency, so you invited Kakuchō to hang out around Shibuya. Luckily, he didn’t have any of those meetings to attend. “Are you dating Haitani Ran?”

Your heart almost stops at hearing this.

“What—no, of course, not,” you reply — one far too quick, your voice raises and you hear Kakuchō scoff under his breath. You almost stop your tracks, instead you turn your head in his direction, narrowing your eyes, clearing your throat before asking, “Why are you asking me that?”

He shrugs, opting on not replying to your question, and you frown, pressing your lips into a thin line. When you lightly hit his shoulder, he sighs, giving into you. “You always hang out these days.”

What a ridiculous reason. “Is that so weird? You and I see each other almost daily,” you reason.

Another scoff escapes his lips as if you had just said the most insane thing in the world. He tells you, “I’ve seen him leave your apartment in the morning. More than once.”

“We didn’t sleep together,” you defensively reply. A growing sense of irritation quickly builds inside of you. “It’s nothing like that. I swear.”

“So, it’s nothing.”

“Well, you know. . .” You trail off, looking at the people fleeing in and out of the cafés and clothing shops. You don’t deny it. You don’t know if you should, yet it’s not really anything, maybe something. He’s your friend. Just like Kakuchō. Just like Izana.

He sighs before saying, “You look at him like how you did with Izana.”

You freeze.

Kakuchō steps stop the moment yours do.

You look at him like how you did with Izana. You grow cold from those words alone, your heart tightens by an old memory of Izana flashing by. Those words play on repeat with the memories.

Just like Izana.

You feel faint.

There’s a tap on your shoulder, you notice the guilt on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you upset. I won’t ask, you don’t gotta say anything. I get it.”

“No, don’t be sorry, I am not upset.” You aren’t upset, but you don’t know how you are feeling. You know you aren’t upset by his words, but your heart stings. You want to cry, but you don’t understand why. [You do, and this makes you feel like sobbing.]

“Okay, well, can I ask why Ran? Rindō is the cooler brother,” he says.

Why Ran. You don’t know this yourself. You just know you like being with Ran. His presence is comforting, he makes you feel less alone in moments you feel alone. You just like being with Ran. You just want to be around that person. It’s as simple as that.

You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger into his forearm, lightly pressing your nail into his muscle. “You only say that because he works out with you.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. That’s the manliest thing someone can do. And he drinks more than any guy I know, it’s kind of insane, and he will still show up to the meeting the next day.”

You grimace. You could never pull yourself out of bed if you were that hungover — and, well, you’re sure that Rindō is dragged and forced to go to these ‘meetings’. Probably. There’s no way it is solely dedication.

“Right. Don’t be drinking with him, got it?” You don’t need Kakuchō developing even more bad habits. Sometimes you can’t help, but nag, even if it doesn't really reach him (if you were Izana, it’d be a whole different case), always going in and out the other ear. “Kaku, are you doing okay these days?”

“I’m fine, but also, a little hungry.”

“Kakuchō.” You lower your voice in an attempt to sound more serious — threatening, maybe. Obviously, it doesn’t work because Kakuchō doesn’t reply or react in any way. “Come on now. Talk to me, I know it’s something.”

He sighs, his eyes don’t meet any part of you. He turns away, the long, faded scar running across his face becomes hidden. “It’s always like this. In the end, I am always the only one who ends up surviving.” You’d prefer bitterness, anger, or sadness – anything – over the empty feeling in his words. Your heart aches, you don’t want Kakuchō to leave you, too.

You don’t even want to imagine such a thing.

You want to hold him.

Your hand reaches out to grab him, so firm and all of his little scars and calluses are felt and seen. Kakuchō looks down at you the moment you touch him. He doesn’t pull away. “I am sorry to say this, I know you won’t want to hear it now, but I am grateful for that. I’d be sad if you weren’t here with me. You are my family, Kaku. Don’t forget that. So, please don’t say something so sad.”

And he’s quick to look away again, too.

He says, “. . . I’d be lonely without you, too.”

Your hand tightens around his. His hand is warm, like it always is, his body always runs hot, too hot, but he is still alive. You’re alive. “You could at least look at me when you say that.”

He grumbles something incomprehensible, you tilt in your head in confusion, “Hm? What was that?”

“I said, ‘what do you want to eat?’”

“Aren’t you being too shy? I guess you’re at that age now,” you continue to tease him, watching as the tip of his ears turn red. Kakuchō has never been good at voicing his own feelings, he speaks through his actions alone — through iron fists and undying loyalty — just like most of the men you have ever known. You grin at the reaction. “Hmm, well, how about we have okonomiyaki tonight? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The three of you used to eat that quite often back then, Kakuchō would be the one who would always make it for you and Izana. You haven’t had it since then. You’re craving it like crazy now.

“Yeah, sounds good. Let’s find a place less crowded, though.”

He really is still the same. Just older now, maybe maturing and experiencing life in all the wrong ways. But he is still your Kakuchō.

You wonder if he thinks the same of you.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

And similar to Kakuchō, you’ve never been so fond of crowds, either. Arms linked, you walk to an old restaurant owned by a cute elderly couple. You tell him you love him (because you do, since back then and now and in the future), he almost pushes you away right then and there, you burst out in laughter.

Kakuchō sits in front of you, in the past he used to sit beside you, you assume maybe it’s because it’s easier to talk this way. A guess because you aren’t so sure. He accidentally makes an extra okonomiyaki the first round, a habit he cannot erase, you both know why, you don’t say anything. You take the extra okonomiyaki and eat it for him.

—

Ran believes that some things are meant to happen for a reason.

You and him.

Him and you.

He throws a party for his brother’s birthday as he does every single year. He only invites their friends who immediately invite other people they know as it always goes and the apartment is filled to a brim. Just like every year.

You arrive a little later than most people, due to work and having to get ready, and Ran immediately removes himself from a group of people surrounding him (a chorus of boo’s are thrown at him), and rushes over to you.

“Hey. You took a while.”

You’re all smiles around him already. “I had to shower and get ready first.”

“You still look pretty in your work uniform.”

You look up at him, pointedly. “And smell like alcohol and chicken and fish?”

Ran grins, “Not much different from here, yeah? I love eating chicken.”

You playfully shove him and his grin widens as he pulls you into the drunk dancing crowd.

When he makes eye contact with Rindō, who is DJing (like always), his brother is clever enough to change the music to keep the two of you close. Bodies are bumping into him and you, you’re really close and your hands are in the air, in your hair, and on him. People are too close, too loud, too intoxicating. He has to lean down every time you attempt to say something to him — a lot of it is just you singing — and your lips brush against the shell of his ear every time.

Every. Single. Time. Electricity jolts through him.

Hair is sticking to your forehead, face red and glowing from dancing, sweat, and the mixture of body heat; you’re stunning and all Ran can think of is how badly he wants to kiss you when you bite your lower lip when you meet his gaze once again.

He pulls you closer, and it happens within a second. You kiss him first. Lips briefly pressing against his, you’re quick to pull back before he can reciprocate, and you flash him a smile more blinding than these flickering neon lights. He pulls you back in for a proper kiss this time.

Admittedly, this is not your first kiss together. He had kissed you once before – barely a peck – one night when he had picked you up from work and drove you home. It can barely be called a kiss, but Ran would be lying if he said it didn’t cause a shock that ran through his entire body. Later that night, alone in his room, his thumb brushed over his lips and they still tingled with the feeling of you.

This kiss, unlike the previous brief and fleeting exchange, he can taste all of you. Openmouthed, desperate, and a little shameless, too (but he doubts anyone is actually paying attention). Your hands find their way to his hair — much like they always seem to do — and Ran sighs when your fingers run through, gently scratching the nape of his neck. You look up at him with a gleam in your eyes, and he swears he wants to undress you right then and there.

Except, he wouldn’t do that. Plus, a loud whistle and a familiar voice jerks him back to the present (reality). It takes so much in him to hold himself back, he has to physically pull himself away from you for a second. He turns and glares at the interruption — Shion. Obviously. That fucker.

“What?” he asks, slightly annoyed and amused at the boy’s fucked appearance.

Shion grin widens, face glowing with sweat, red eyes, high and drunk on whatever someone had snuck in. Someone sure is having a good time. “Just—‘m just enjoying the show,” he slurs as his eyes make their way behind him, to you.

Ran steps forward and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Shion wobbles with a faint touch. “Go sit down, Madarame. You’re gonna fall over.”

Shion ignores him, brushes past him, and asks you to dance. Ran groans, calling out his name, but Shion blocks out his voice and smiles at you.

So, sure, he and the boys have this thing of cockblocking each other for shits and giggles, but now was definitely not the time for that. He needs to learn how to read the room. Damn idiot. (This is probably Shion’s payback from the last party, and all the times before that, but Ran swears it’s funny when he does it.)

You look from Shion to him and Ran shrugs, as if a shrug is enough to let you know that it’s just Shion, so it’s fine if you wanna dance with him, or not. After a second, you accept his dance with a curt, “Sure.” And Shion smiles, wide with all teeth.

“Behave yourself,” he warns Shion before turning to you. “I am gonna get some water. I’ll leave you to it for a bit.”

Ran walks over to join Rindō at his DJ booth.

Rindō looks at him with a raised brow as he makes his way behind the booth. “You lost your girl to Shion,” Rindō loudly snorts.

“Just letting him be around a girl out of his league for once,” Ran jokingly replies, and they both laugh. “Change the song for me.”

The song switches to something more upbeat; everyone is spinning and jumping, you and Shion, too. He can barely hear his own thoughts through the loud vibrations of the bass. He and Rindō talk about nothing, and Ran lets Shion dance with you for two whole songs. Shion is an idiotic lunatic, especially when he’s drunk, but he’s not stupid enough to do something he knows he shouldn’t. His hands don’t leave your hands, rather, Ran thinks you’re making sure Shion doesn’t let go of your hands, so he doesn’t fall over. Ran thinks you might be too nice. He’s having a good time and so are you, so that’s all that matters. He likes watching you dance, even if it’s not with him.

At some point, he runs to the kitchen to get a cup of water, and when he returns to you, Shion is nowhere in sight. That boy never stays in one place for long.

“Sorry, Shion is an idiot,” he tells you as he offers you the cup in his hand, basically forcing it into your hand to drink.

You chug back the water, no doubt exhausted and dehydrated from all the dancing and sweaty bodies around you. “He’s a funny guy. I had fun.”

Ran gives you a skeptical look. “Guess so, but feel free to ignore him next time.”

You grin, “Really, Ran, he was nice!”

“I sure hope so.” He leans down as whispers against your ear, “My room?”

You nod.

And finally, you’re on top of him. Ran is laying on his back, propped up by his elbows as he watches you take off your top, far too slowly, because you like to tease, and Ran is an impatient man deep down. But in this moment, he lets you do your own thing, and watches, watches, admires your every subtle movement. The real thing is much better than his daydreams. Yes, in the moment, he almost thanked Buddha.

You lean down to kiss him. Rather soft and innocent compared to the way you shift on top of him, and the way your hand runs down between the two of you. He’s rather shameless, and doesn’t bother hiding the way you make him feel. There’s nothing greater than pleasure.

Your movements come to an abrupt stop, and Ran suddenly becomes more aware. For a moment, he thinks you must be teasing him once more — Ran doesn’t beg.

He asks, “You okay?”

You stay quiet, he can’t see your eyes, something is wrong.

“Hey, is there something wrong?” His hand is immediately searching for yours, unknowingly. You pull your hand away before he can reach it. You pull your hands together.

Your voice comes out too quiet. It shakes at the end.

“. . . I’m scared,” you admit.

Ran pauses, his expression drops and he’s quick to sit straight up, reaching over to grab your hand, pulling it into his. His thumb brushes against the back.

He pulls you in his arms, your head lays against his chest as he whispers, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.” He doesn’t need this. “It’s alright, don’t force yourself.”

“No, that’s not what I—” you’re cut off by a whine; your own cry.

He’s scared to death the moment you begin to sob. Full on sobbing, you’re choking, and he can’t calm you down. He’s frantically trying to speak to you, but his words are not reaching you.

He wants to know what’s wrong. He needs to know what he can do to help you. There’s nothing he can do, except hold you.

“I, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He frowns. Wrong. Your words alarm him. “There’s nothing wrong. It’s not wrong. Trust me.” He tells you, more firm than his usual tone with you. “You’re okay, baby.”

You shake your head. “It’s not.”

“It is.” He grabs the blanket beneath the two of you and wraps it around your naked figure.

You try to say you’re sorry — words don’t come out, but Ran knows you’re trying to apologise for something that only exists in your mind. There’s nothing wrong at all and he needs you to understand this.

“We’re okay, trust me. We’re more than okay.” He reassures as he holds you a little tighter when he feels your shaky form against him. “Don’t force yourself to do anything, yeah?” His voice drops to a comforting whisper, “Just breathe for me. You can do that.”

You cry into his chest for an hour. He says nothing, but strokes your hair and quietly calls your name from time to time.

After a long time, when your sniffles begin to slow and the party outside the door begins to die down, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say, and leave it at that.

(You think Ran doesn’t understand, and you feel bad because you don’t know how to tell him how his sweetness and understanding and patience with you causes you to cry even more. He’s so sweet, it aches, and aches, and aches, but his arms around you bring comfort and security, and then, so do his lips.)

—

Leaves decay, autumn passes, and it’s almost Christmas. Snow fell greatly last night, piles and piles of snow pack up, and Rindō is dragged outside to play. Play as if he is some seven-year-old kid once again.

The three of you are outside their apartment complex, you’re rolling snow to make a snowman next to one that has already been made — probably by the family that lives on the first floor. They have two little kids — one boy and one girl. Rindō remembers bumping into them in a drunken state, and the mother looked at him in disappointment and disgust as she blocked him from her children (obviously, he wasn’t going to do anything, but he can’t exactly blame the woman, either), Rindō scoffed at her and stumbled his way upstairs.

He and Ran aren’t doing anything, just standing on the sidelines, lighting a cigarette, and watching you. When Ran passes him the cigarette, Rindō is quick to take notice of the difference in smell and taste. Since when did he start smoking another brand? Especially something like this. Still, he smokes it with him without complaint.

“So,” Rindō starts off, gaining his brother’s attention. “How are you?”

Ran’s face twists, he stares at his little brother strangely, as if he had grown another head. “Huh?”

Sure, it is a weird question, because no matter how close they seem (are), they don’t talk about feelings or anything like that, even if they are together almost 24/7. But Rindō just wants to know this time, he’s so curious, because something has changed about his brother. It’s noticeable in everything he does.

His eyes flicker from him to you. “You and her. The two of you are together now, or what’s going on?” Rindō is curious. He knows there’s something more going on, he’s no fool, and the way your eyes always seem to find each other basically screams it to his face. “Hasn’t it been a while?”

Ran shrugs, poker face, as always.

Rindō just lets out an ‘Ah’, and that’s that. There’s never much to say between them because they’ll just accept anything about each other without an explanation.

However, Ran continues speaking about it, much to his surprise. “I am actually fine with it, y’know.”

“Fine with what?” he asks.

“How there will always be a little part of her who loves Izana.” Ran says this so casually, Rindō’s mouth opens slightly, yet there’s nothing he can think to say so he shuts it and stares on ahead. “Even if he were still here. . . yeah, I’d be okay with it, too.”

Ran has always been complex in ways that nobody can understand, and when they finally think they do, he shows them that they never knew him at all. When he wants something, he’s quick to dive in and take it. He takes, takes, and takes. He’s quite cruel at times, it’s how he learned to survive.

(And Rindō learned that from him, too.)

If Izana were here, somewhere in another life, he knows you would still choose Ran — that’s probably what his brother is thinking. That cocky, confident smile tells all. And Ran is probably right about it, he always is, and he’s annoying about that fact, too.

Ran’s eyes have always been a shade darker than his. Yet, in this light, they seem to shine brighter than his.

“Ran!”

The both of them look up. You’re running over, there’s snow in your hair, frosting over. Your smile is bright, teeth showing, the snow around is sparkling. Ran’s smile is suddenly all soft.

“What?” Even his voice is all smiles, and internally, Rindō gags.

“Come here,” your hand pulls him along. Ran follows you like a dog.

And suddenly, it’s only the two of you in the world; moving slowly, kicking snow onto each other, pushing, running, hands never letting go. It’s pure, gentle, something so rare and hard to find, Rindō's heart shakes at the sight of Ran and you.

The idea of Ran and you.

He’s a little jealous, but he will never admit to something like that.

He thinks about taking a picture of Ran to show him how idiotic he looks, but in the end, he decides not to. Ran won’t see what he looks like in this light, unless, as cheesy as it sounds, through the reflection of your eyes.

—

January rolls around, the very first day of the year, and Yokohama’s seaside never seems to change. Dawn is blue, forever blue, you feel as if your soul is about to cry.

Ran had shown up at your apartment right before the hand of the clock struck midnight to no one’s surprise. Well, maybe, you were a little surprised. His brother was throwing a New Year’s party (one you had declined the invitation to), yet here Ran is with you. You ask why, to which he replies with, “I just wanted to see you.” And that is enough for you to let him inside.

The two of you attempt to stay up all night — that attempt is quick to fail, because you both become entangled in your bed, falling into slumber. And once your alarm sets off at five in the morning, you’re dragging Ran out of your bed, pulling his clothes off from your bedroom floor, and pushing him out the door. His hand in yours. You take him to your spot by the pier, almost jogging. It’s nearly six.

“Sleepyhead,” you eventually call out, glancing at the sleepy boy beside you. He could sleep anywhere, you think. It’s a fact known to everyone around him. “You are dozing off. You’ll miss the sunrise.”

After a few beats, your words register through his head. He lazily nods, almost as if he’s nodding off again. “If you don’t say anything, I think I really will pass out,” he mumbles back, voice groggy and deeper than usual from his sleepiness.

You ask, “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Mhm. . .”

You ponder for a moment, before asking, “Do you think people ever truly move on from their first love?”

This is enough to wake Ran up. The weight on your head is lifted, he shifts. “That’s heavy,” he breathes out.

“You said anything.”

It’s quiet for a moment before he gives you an answer.

“It depends on the person.” He turns his body to turn and look at you. “Why do you ask? Scared to move on or do you think you’ll never be able to?”

You don’t lift your gaze, settling on the waves below. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You can feel his eyes on you and the smirk that is tugging on his lips, even though you know he is being serious with you. He wants to know. He needs to hear your answer. “I don’t know. . . Do you ever think about your first love?”

“Nah, I don’t think about things like that, sweetheart.”

“Liar. You could at least pretend and go along with me.” He smiles when you say this. You softly sigh, going along with his silence. “But fine. If you did think about those things, do you think you would eventually forget about them?”

Ran’s eyes flicker, violet hues staring deep into you, as he huffs a silent laugh — one that feels a little sad compared to his usual ones. “I think I would carry a part of them with me no matter how much time has passed.”

His words make you softly smile. And they feel a little sad, too. “I see. . . You are quite the romanticist,” you tease.

For some reason, you feel as if your teasing never seems to work against him, he remains as composed as he always is. He whispers, “Aren’t we all?”

It’s strange how easily Ran’s words bring comfort to you. In ways where you feel heard and seen even in darkness. Ran is always like that. There’s a part of you that will never forget Izana, not now or in another life. He will always be someone you love and cherish. Ran understands this — he understands you, never judging. You understand him, too, and that’s all that matters.

“Hey, Ran, can I ask you something?”

“You sure have a lot of questions today,” he says with both amusement and curiosity swimming in his tone. “Shoot. What else is running through that mind of yours?”

You open your mouth, then pause.

“Hm? What’s with the sudden hesitation? Is it something embarrassing?” he teasingly asks, nudging his shoulder against yours, prompting you to speak your mind. “You can tell me. Promise, I won’t laugh.”

You know he wouldn’t laugh at you — always with you. Never at you. You just can’t find the right words to say to him. [Or maybe the courage.]

“You know I don’t judge you.”

“You judge everyone, Ran.”

His smile drops, and his expression turns more serious than you would like. “Surely you know that you’re not everyone.” He asks, “You understand, don’t you?”

You quietly reply, “I know.”

“Then is it something bad?” His voice goes quiet, too.

“No, it’s just,” you deeply inhale, turning your head back to the sea, averting your gaze from those eyes that look at you so softly [tenderly, with his full adoration], it causes your heart to tighten every time. You fidget with the ends of your hair, exposing your nerves. Another short pause and then you breathe. “I think. . . I think I like you, Ran. Like, a lot, and it terrifies me. Maybe you don’t believe me—I would find it hard to believe, too, because of—”

“I believe you,” his reply comes immediately. Voice so clear among the waves and seagulls calling above. “I can tell. You make it quite obvious sometimes, it’s hard for me to ignore, y’know?”

You blink. “Oh. Um, is it really?” you meekly reply.

Ran hums and heat rises up to your ears in embarrassment. You don’t think you’re somebody who is that obvious. Your face no longer feels the coldness of winter brushing by, internally groaning. You guess it was obvious. The two of you kiss a lot, you’ve gone further than that on a few occasions, and he stays over at your apartment more often than not. It is obvious. But liking and loving someone are two completely different things. (Love. . .)

“I feel the same. But how I feel . . . it is probably too soon to say how I feel for you, so I will wait until you are sure you want this.” His hand brushes against yours — cold from the cement and winter air, pinky dragging across the back of your hand. “Not too long, though. My patience isn’t so gentlemanly.”

Your heart flutters, embarrassment shifting to shyness. I feel the same for you, too. You try to not burst out smiling, lightly biting down onto your lip. Your cheeks betray you. You can feel the heat rising against the wind.

“Oh? Is that what people call you now? I don’t recall you being that much of a gentleman.”

Ran scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really now?” Beginning to mutter to himself about how he treats you so well, that he’s been born a gentleman — it’s engraved into the very depths of his soul. And to some degree, those words are true. Ran has been nothing but patient with you. Someone who is always there when you need it.

I will wait until you are sure you want this. You do want this, you want to be with him — with the person beside you now. You want us. “Me too,” you say as you gather more courage, leaning towards him a little, your hand rests on his shoulder as you stare straight into those pretty lavender eyes. “I am falling in love with you,” you say to him, more sure than before.

You don’t waver.

A second passes, a wave crashes.

“Mm, I missed what you said. Say it again for me, sweetheart,” he says with that signature smile to his soft, pink lips, “for me, please?”

His plea makes you roll your eyes. Ran loves attention — both good and bad. He loves pretty things and pretty words, even more when they hold something so precious and meaningful in them. I love you. I love you. I love you. I like you so, so much. I want to be with you, Ran. Ran, Ran, Ran — sweet words that have been whispered to him many times before in the past (and many more times in the future, including now).

You lean over, cherry lips brushing against his ear, as light as a feather. You whisper a confession. A heartfelt confession. The wind rushes by, his hair tickles your flushed cheek, and a sweet confession only for the two of you to know, drowned out by everything else in the world.

It’s just you and Ran.

Snow gently falls, your hand found itself in Ran’s, his fingers intertwined between yours. He doesn’t let go. You don’t let go. Even when the sun begins to rise over the blue horizon, not when you’re walking back to your apartment, not when Kakuchō and Rindō stop by later for dinner and Ran is doing nothing, but admiring you as you cook. Neither of you let go for a long, long time.

It’s just Ran and you.

[gliphyartfan]

Lately I've been feeling bad and feel like I'm going to hurt myself again. I want to know how you think yan Chain would react to a reader self-harming, I just need a little comfort :b

Hey there sweetpea , thank you for trusting me with your feelings. I’ll do my best to bring you a smile!

So, how I think the Chain would react?

Hmm

Well:

TIME wouldn’t let anything slip past his notice. The moment he saw evidence of self-harm, his almost deceptively calm tone would freeze them in place. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

Time would try to keep things calm around Reader.

He wouldn’t demand answers right away, they’d definitely be startled at being caught, he’d let them. come to him.

He’d tell them that when they were doing stoped then and there, like He says it softly, but his tone leaves no room for argument.

Whether it’s his hand resting gently on Reader’s shoulder or sitting quietly in the same room, he’d make sure they know they’re not alone.

he’d kneel in front of Reader, take their hands gently, and assure them that he’s here to stay, no matter what.

He’d quietly remind them that pain is temporary and that leaning on him, on them, is okay.

-

For WIND?

He’d immediately want to take charge, pulling Reader into a tight hug and whispering assurances and how Reader should have to feel so miserable as to want to do that.

He’d go out of his way to cheer them up, his antics sometimes over tha top but always sincere and concerned. Whether it’s telling stories, cracking jokes, or planning little adventures away from the group when they want space, he’d do whatever it takes to see Reader happy again. Cause beneath his playful actions, he’s deeply worried about them.

His yandere tendencies might slip through in how much he needs to see Reader happy. If they seem down, he won’t rest until he’s made them smile again, even if it means going overboard.

—

WARRIORS would mask his worry with charm, trying to keep things, ya know, happy and casual and upbeat to take Reader’s mind off their pain. But his concern would show in the way he watches them, his sharp eyes never missing a thing.

He’d focus on removing anything harmful from their reach while reassuring them that he wasn’t upset, just…worried (and hurt, and scared of the possibilities if he hadn’t caught them)

He’d start to insist on walking them everyone when the others arent around, pulling them close if he senses any danger, even if it’s just his overactive imagination.

He’d be a bit more touchy…holding their hand more, patting their shoulders and head, it’s all casual but it remains him they’re still ok.

——

FOUR would likely notice the signs before anyone else, his observant nature catching even the smallest details. He’d approach Reader cautiously, his voice soft as he asked if tehy were okay.

He’d of course, would be devastated but wouldn’t show it outwardly. Instead, he’d focus on what he could do to help, his hands steady as he tended to their wounds if they had any.

His colors would react differently. All equally worried, all equally wanting to comfort Reader. Maybe they accidentally overwhelm them and after that little mistake they take turns spending time with Reader.

Red wouod make flower chains with Reader.

Green would take them on walks.

Vio and surprisingly Blue, would have quiet moments. The two would just hang around while Reader did their own thing. (Kinda like how cats hang around each other without bothering one another? Like that!)

They’d definitely channel theur emotions into creating something for Reader, maybe a charm, a piece of jewelry? something tangible to remind Readee of their worth. His actions would speak louder than words.

Four when whole would keep close, offering quiet but unwavering support. If Reader needed a distraction, he’d work on a small project beside them, his presence a quiet reminder that they’renot alone.

——-

TWILIGHT would be devastated but wouldn’t show it outwardly. He’d, after making sure they won’t bolt in fear, immediately scoop Reader up in his arms, holding them tightly as if that alone could shield them from harm.

He’d be both heartbroken and angry, at himself for not protecting them better and at the world for making them feel this way.

Reader would feel like Twi’s entire world revolves around keeping them safe, even if it means following them everywhere (on two legs or four) or sleeping by their door at night. (Though if them want him in the room so they can snuggle, he definitely wouldn’t decline)

———

WILD wouldn’t say anything at first, his eyes taking in every detail. He’d carefully tend to their wounds with a mix of gentleness and…I’m gonna say delicate-ness? It’s just very careful. his hands steady even as his emotions were all over the place beneath the surface. his expression unreadable as he took the time to process what was happening. Then he’d gently pull Reader into a very gentle hug, his arms trembling slightly.

He’s become even more protective, Reader would catch him watching them constantly, his eyes always scanning for any signs of distress.

He’d channel his guilt into action, He’ll “accidentally” leave little gifts for them, freshly cooked meals, rare ingredients, trinkets he scavenged. and staying by Reader’s side as much as he could.

———-

LEGEND might not know the right words to say at first, he’s probably really caught off guard at what he catches sight of. But when Reader is looking at him in fear and trying to hide the evidence of what they’ve done, his actions would speak volumes. He’d take charge, patching up any wounds with gentle hands.

(He’d pretend his hands weren’t shaking, taht they weren’t betraying how deeply affected he truly was.)

He’d keep them company, even if he isn’t sitting right next to Reader, he’d be within their view. He’d take their hand and guide them away if he noticed them stressing out. He’d tell them stories of his adventures, small things that would bring a fragile smile on Reader’s face. And even if it isn’t bring a smile, it’d give them something to focus on. Something to ground them as them calm down.

And when Reader is calm and relaxed, he’d sit close and quietly admit how much he cares, how much Reader’s mere presence is worth to him and his life.

————

SKY would react with a mix of sadness and internal fury, fury at himself for not noticing sooner. He’d gently take their hands in his, brushing over any scars or fresh wounds, his voice trembling as he tells Reader it’s going to be alright.

He’s…not familiar with someone who has gone through this. If there was anyone like that in Skyloft, well…he never caught wind of it. So he’s very very terrified by this.

He’d be sleeping next to Reader that night…tho I doubt he’s sleep, probably watching how their chest rises and falls, scared that the rhythm would suddenly stop if he looked away.

Sky would be endlessly patient once he gathers himself, his warm, gentleness would be a constant source of comfort. He’d sit beside Reader, holding their hand if they let him, and quietly let them know it’s okay to feel whatever they are feeling.

He’d shower them with small, tender gestures, braiding their hair if it’s long, bringing them flowers, or playing his harp softly to them.

Sky might slip up by being overly protective, like insisting they stay close to him at all times. But he’d easily back off (for a little while at least) when Reader brings it up. Just wanting them comfortable and happy.

————-

HYRULE would be devastated.

He’d immediately try to take care of them, healing magic at the ready to heal any wounds. Gentle but practically pleading in a trembling voice if there are any other injuries he should know about.

He’d apologize frequently if Reader shows any signs of pain. He’d hold their hands afterwards, thumbs on their wrists, most likely focusing on the warmth and pulse beneath.

He tries not to hover, but it’s hard not to when his every instinct tells him to protect them.

If Reader ever tries brushes off his concerns to ask him not to worry, he’d..well not accept that.

“Don’t…don’t…lie to me. Please…even if you want me away from you for the moment, I’d rather you be honest…I just want to help.”

Hyrule would shower them with affection, his actions almost frantic as he tried to show them how much they mean to him. But he’s also holding back, scare he’ll push them away when they are already fragile in a way his magic can’t heal.

He wants them better, but he knows how terrible the fight against one’s mind can be. All he can do is be there by Reader’s side.

—————

Reader might not even notice at first, but slowly, anything that could be used to hurt themselves would disappear or get replaced with safer alternatives.

Legend quietly pockets sharp objects or anything suspicious without mentioning it. Four might ‘ upgrade’ certain tools so that they’re less dangerous (and not tell them why).

They are gonna be very focused on limiting access to anything harmless they’re trying not to make Reader feel like their autonomy’s being stripped.

They know nights are hard, so Reader would often find one or two of them staying up a bit later, coincidentally near wherever they’re sleeping.

Twilight might claim he’s just reading by the fire, while Warriors hovers at the edge of camp, but both keep an ear out for any sign of distress.

If Reader wakes up from a nightmare or dark thoughts, they’re immediately there, offering water, a blanket, or just a quiet ear.

They’ll all be aware that sometimes Reader’s thoughts get dark. So they plan little distractions, Wind invites you for a short stroll, Hyrule shares a story from his travels, or Wild asks for help with cooking or someone to tag along as he wanders around (if they’re up for it).

If Reader ever express guilt for worrying them, they instantly (almost too quickly) jump in with reassurance. Because guilt is a slippery slope that keeping spiraling down with great difficulty getting out of it.

They actively hold back on their more intense behaviors. Time wants to command Reader to stay put, but he softens his tone. Warriors wants to lecture them into next week, but he bites his tongue. Twilight’s instincts scream to keep them locked away safe, but he chooses to give them space.

Each hero attempts to give Reader breathing room, but they also catch themselves hovering, exchanging quick looks when Reader moves out of sight

They want Reader to feel cherished, protected, and above all, happy and alive. So they’ll do everything they can to accommodate and accomplish that.

[iheartradio8]

Top 5 worst Miraculous Transformations (cause there’s some hideous ones)

Disclaimer: just my unimportant, uniformed, but ultimately correct opinion.

Honorable Mention :

It’s not bad enough to be top 5 but I do in-fact hate it. Like it’s not hideous or anything but it’s just so lazy. I get simplicity but putting her in a red bodysuit with polka dots is crazy. She, as a fashion designer, should’ve been able to think of something better than this. It looks especially bad when she’s standing next to people with better, more complex suits. The outfit she changes into after her lucky charm should be her main one it’s way better.

Number 5:

My only real issue is the head but it’s a HUGE issue he looks WILD. The fact I’ve never seen art of the original bald version say’s everything. Everyone agrees it’s goofy.

Number 4:

Who is this…. No but seriously he looks nothing like Mark. Everything about this design is completely unserious, in a mostly bad way. This design has zero subtlety, the only note was the word “rooster”. It’s almost so camp that I love it. Almost.

Number 3:

This purple next to this red makes me physically nauseous. She looks like a virus. The sleeves and…wings(?) aren’t helping. It looks like they put a butterfly and a ladybug on like top of each other. They mixed 2 of the worst main costumes and got this. It could be worse, but I can barely see how.

Number 2:

If I had to describe this in one word it’d be, busy. If I had to describe this in 3 words it’d be, a hate crime. There’s so elements and somehow none of them are good. While I don’t envy the people who had to mix a ladybug and horse design but there had to be a better option than this.

Number One:

This is actually hurtful. If I had to come up with reasons not to watch this show, this monstrosity would be at the top of my list (and for this show that’s saying a lot). Whoever ever came up with, the kidney failure eyes and GREEN LIPS, needs to be institutionalized they cannot be okay. For every other design I can find SOMETHING okay about it. Ladybug design is iconic, Aspik suite is good, Rooster is camp, Pega bug has okay sleeves. But if someone put me in front of a gun and said “Name something good about this design” I’d ask to call my lawyer so he can hear my will before I go. I genuinely despise this and while I don’t particularly care for Zoe, she deserved leagues better than this.

Anyway these are my least favorite designs. If you disagree with any of these let me know <33

[ratinacoat]

Cause a couple people on my previous post wanted more details, these are things I see in common with the system/syscourse communities and fakeclaimer communities like fdc and syscringe

Both just reiterate things people say with no knowledge on what they're saying If someone in either communities say something and make it make sense in a long and detailed post, people will see it and reiterate it. They make their own posts, own comments, tell people these things, etc and do no research into it themselves. The lack of research means they're just talking about things they don't understand, they just say what they think they understand until it eventually gets twisted into straight up misinfo like some game of telephone

Dictating the most random shit From stupid things like who can use number names to what adults with littles can and can't do, they both act like there's a rule book. Pls it doesn't matter if someone without "RAMCOA" trauma uses number names. It doesn't matter what adults do when a little is fronting. Who cares if someone calls their alters "alters" "parts" "personalities", it doesn't matter. They both act like these things are a big deal

Misusing/watering down important words "Anti recovery" "ableism" "slurs" "bullying" "pedophilia" and more. Not being in recovery atm isn't anti recovery, skepticism is not ableism, calling out misinfo is not bullying, littles engaging in adult activities is not pedophilia. This also falls under dictating the most random shit

"Your trauma wasn't bad enough to have DID ackchyually" Omgg shut up. Both act like trauma is the event itself and not the result. Like. no. It's how you reacted not what happened !!! The system community mostly acts like "RAMCOA" is the biggest baddest form of trauma there is and acts like they'll always have "more DID" than someone else . Calling "HC-DID" a RAMCOA exclusive term when that makes no sense, treating programming/conditioning like it can only happen to systems or RAMCOA like it can only happen to systems makes no sense . It's all trauma Olympics. They also all think cults are blood sacrifices to the devil when it's more common for them to be something like Mormonism Cringe subs treat it like if your trauma wasn't "that bad" then you wouldn't have DID at all and anyone with DID must have gone through the most gruesome shit so if it's was something like neglect or emotional abuse, you clearly can't have DID

Lying about each other to make one another more hateable Both make up random shit to validate a strong hatred that would normally be irrational. Cutting out things systems say to make the posts more cringe, lying about things a Redditor has said to make them sound like a bigot. Stuff like that

Against bullying/harassment but both do it occasionally I'm sorry but if you think someone posting you to a cringe sub calls for death threats or doxing you need to self reflect. If someone being open about having DID or even just having PluralKit makes you think they need to be bullied tf out of in texts you also need to do some self reflection Also I don't really like the "check user history" flair on fdc or syscringe (can't remember which it's on) cause it's really just given to people who post in DID/system subs? Even if it's not some outlandish thing it's just there and imo it encourages people to leave the moderated setting and go to a different one to be a douche

Toxic ass communities I have never been in a system community that doesn't have at least one creep in it and the subs are both full of transphobia and random discourse that has nothing to do with disorder cringe. Like neo pronouns. Idrk what they are but somehow whenever someone posted there has them you have comments like "Look at this loser with cat pronouns" like. who cares. System communities are also very very toxic, I'm not going to even try listing why, I can make a separate post for that if it's really not clear but I have a list that's got 72 (and growing) things the system community has told me that range from misinfo to pedophilia

"Don't post private info" as they repost the private info (More about fdc and syscringe) They both shit on people for posting private stuff like their Simply Plurals but instead of shooting them a message saying "hey man, this is private and could potentially harm you, you should take it down", they repost it for more people to see .. ??

Treating each other like the spawn of Satan Anyone who fake claims someone is the most evilest person ever and anyone with "system" in their bio should be made fun of until the end of time

Disagreement = evil Pls learn how to disagree with someone respectfully. Rant about how much you hate them in private with friends like a normal person. Someone who likes the label C-DID isn't a horrible faker cause it's a personal label instead of a diagnostic label. Someone who prefers to see things medically is not evil just cause they see alters as different parts and not different people

There's more I could think of but I don't feel like typing anymore lol . I think they're both pretty hypocritical when talking about each other and act so similar even when they're on the opposite sides

[sprites4ever]

I'd like to know the context of these photos. (Except for the Palestine one, that's obvious.) Did I ever say that it was okay with those people? No, I didn't. This is all you Right-wing asshats do: Put words in people's mouths and use crude stereotyping. There's also the fact that, except for Hamas supporters, these other people's political agendas doesn't exactly line up with Hitler's. Elon's does. If Trump is Hitler 2, Elon Musk is Henry Ford 2, after all. Hitler wrote that Henry Ford was the one who inspired him for concentration camps.

I'd also like to know why others doing Hitler salutes or reminiscient gestures excuses Elon from doing it. If I murder somebody, does that mean that you get to murder people as well, because someone else did a similarly bad thing, or the same? No. But you people don't care about being better than others, you only care about dragging others to your sewer-level of civility.

Also, did those people issue a childish Nazi pun on the social media site they own afterwards, instead of apologies or clarifications? I don't think so. Elon did. Btw, the "He was gesturing" deflection doesn't work, because Elon Musk has said "My heart goes out to all of you" in front of a crowd plenty of times before, and made completely different gestures in the process. There's also the fact that plenty of real Nazis online are openly celebrating this and saying that Elon is making them feel seen.

Furthermore, two of those photos show the people doing it with the left hand. The Nazi salute is always done with the right hand. I also never said that I supported antisemitic Hamas supporters and you will see quite a lot of cricism of them on my blog, but I guess since you don't talk to me but the Liberal strawman version of me, I must be a raging Hamas Commie, aside a Leftist Socialist-Communist Demon-Rat, too.

And finally, for someone who tried threatening me with a photo of their gun, and for someone who thinks me a retard for every reply I make, you keep tagging me on your bullshit suspiciously often. If you think you'll get the stereotypical SJW trigger reaction you seemingly want to see, by tagging me on Right-wing troll memes, it seems like I'm the first person who jumps to your mind when you see something that you think will trigger the libtards. Seems like you think of me A LOT. Do you have any previously unknown feelings that you'd like to share with me? ;)